Great Chip Emojis & Text

GREAT CHIP i (Autistic author) "I'm home," Chip exclaims. His mom Karen looked up. Plankton, his dad, is in the middle of an absence seizure. Plankton only let Karen know about his autism, and she knew their son Chip may eventually find out about it. Chip notices his dad's odd unresponsive stare at the wall, unblinking. "Dad?" Karen knew Plankton's in sensory overload and needs to wait the absence seizure out. But Chip starts to come closer. "Chip, don't touch him," Karen instructs quickly, her voice sharp with urgency. "Dad's just having a moment. He'll be okay in a bit." She tries to distract him with a snack. "Why don't you go eat some chum from the kitchen?" Chip pauses, curiosity piqued. He's seen his dad zone out before, but never like this. He looks at Karen's tightened expression, then back at Plankton's glazed eye, sensing something serious. He nods reluctantly, backing away and heading to the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening and shutting echoes through the house, his mind racing. He eats a piece of chum, but then comes back. "What's wrong with Dad?" he asks, his voice cracking with fear. Karen sighs, bracing herself for a conversation she's been dreading. "Your dad has something called autism, Chip. It's like his brain sometimes gets overwhelmed by things we don't even notice. That's why he zones out. It's called an absence seizure." Chip's eyes widen, trying to process this new information. "But why isn't he talking to me?" Karen's eyes soften with empathy. "It's not because he doesn't want to, sweetheart. When he's like this, his brain just needs a break. It's like when you're watching a movie, and everything else fades away for a moment. For Dad, it happens without his control." Chip nods slowly, watching his dad still frozen on the couch. He wonders what it must be like, to be trapped inside your own mind like that. "Does he know I'm here?" he whispers, his voice barely carrying across the room. "I'm not sure, but let's give him some space," Karen says gently. "It's important not to startle him when he's like this. It could make things worse." Chip nods again, his mind buzzing with questions. He watches from a distance. He's never seen anything quite so... strange. "What do we do when he has one of these?" he asks tentatively, his voice quivering. Karen takes a deep breath. "Just stay calm, and wait. It's like he's in another world. We can't bring him back, but we have to be here for him when he returns." Chip nods, trying to understand. "But when it ends, how will he be?" "It's hard to say," Karen admits. "Sometimes he's a bit confused, sometimes he's tired, sometimes he doesn't remember what happened. We just need to be patient and let him come back to us." Chip's curiosity doesn't wane. "But why does it happen?" Karen sighs, choosing her words with care. "It's part of his autism, his brain processing things differently. Sometimes, it's too much for him, and his body takes a break." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his dad. "But can he hear us?" "I think so," Karen says, trying to keep her tone calm. "But it's like he's in a deep daydream right now. He might not be able to respond or even understand." Chip watches his dad, his curiosity morphing into concern. "Can't we wake him up?" Karen shakes her head. "It's not like sleep, Chip. We can't force him out of it. We just have to wait." Chip nods, but his curiosity is insatiable. "Does Dad like being autistic?" Karen considers the question. "It's not about liking or not liking. It's just who he is. Sometimes it's hard for him, but he's also really good at things because of it. Like fixing those gadgets of yours, or knowing so much about science." Chip looks at his dad's unresponsive form, then at his mom. "But what sets it off? What makes him zone out?" Karen sighs, her gaze lingering on Plankton before returning to Chip. "It's different every time. Sometimes it's too much noise, other times it's a moment of déjà vu.." Chip frowns. "But does he remember what happens to him? Does he know about the seizures?" "Well," Karen starts, her voice measured, "his brain doesn't always keep those memories. Sometimes it's like a blur to him. It's like when you forget a dream right after you wake up. But he's aware that something happens." Chip's gaze shifts to his dad's hand, resting gently on the armrest. "Does he like hugs?" he asks, his voice smaller now, quieter. Karen nods. "He does, but not always. Some days he needs them more than others. Sometimes, it depends on the person.." Chip thinks about this, his screen still on Plankton. "Can I... try giving him a hug now?" Karen looks over, studying her son's innocent expression. "I don't think so, not right now. We have to respect his space." Chip nods, his curiosity not waning. "But when can I hug him?" he asks. "Is there a right time?" Karen looks over, her screen reflecting a mix of pride and sadness. "There isn't a perfect time, but when he's out of his seizure, and if he's in a good mood, try asking. Just remember, his senses are really sensitive. Sometimes, his body needs space more than others." The house remains silent, save for the steady tick of the living room clock. Chip's eyes never leave his father's frozen form, his mind racing.

GREAT CHIP ii (Autistic author) After what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye slowly refocus. His body twitches, then relaxes. He blinks, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Karen moves closer, her hand on his shoulder. "Welcome back," she says soothingly. Plankton looks up, seeing Chip in the doorway, his eyes full of questions. "What..." Plankton asks, his voice groggy. Chip takes a step forward, his heart racing. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton blinks again, his gaze sharpening. He looks at Karen. "I had one of my moments, didn't I?" His voice is tinged with self-consciousness. Karen nods, her eyes full of love and understanding. "Yes, you did." Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip, his vulnerability laid bare for his son to see. Chip steps closer, unsure of what to do with his hands, his eyes searching his dad's. "Are you okay?" Chip asks, his voice tentative. "I just got h..." "Yes," Plankton cuts him off, his tone brisk, "I'm fine, ok?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, as if the seizure is an inconvenience, something to be pushed aside quickly and forgotten. Chip's heart squeezes at the sight. "Dad, ca..." "I said I'm okay," Plankton repeats, his voice a little sharper this time. There's a defensiveness in his tone that Chip's never heard before. Chip flinches. But he's still confused, and his curiosity won't quit. "But why do..." "I don't want to talk about it, I told you what to know," Plankton snaps, his voice abrupt and final. "So just drop it!" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his curiosity colliding with his dad's discomfort. He's never seen Plankton so agitated before. "Dad I'm so..." "I said I'm okay!" Plankton says. "So JUST STOP ASKING!" Chip's eyes well with tears. He didn't mean to upset him, he just wanted to understand. Karen steps in, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you go to your room for a bit, honey?" "Ok," Chip says, but he ends up accidentally touching his dad when he stands up to go, brushing against Plankton. And that makes him even angrier.. Plankton jolts away, his face twisting into a grimace. "I said not to touch me!" The room goes deathly quiet. Karen's eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to say something, but Plankton's not done with Chip. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" he yells, his voice echoing off the walls. "I can't even have a moment without you pestering me! YOU'RE the one who's not okay! YOU'RE JUST A KID, CHIP; I NEVER WANT YOU TO EVER THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN!" Chip's eyes widen, his face flushing with a mix of fear and sadness. He didn't know his dad could be so mad. He turns and runs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Karen sighs heavily. This isn't how she wanted Chip to learn about Plankton's condition. She knows her husband's frustration is a defense mechanism, a way for him to cope with his own fears. But it doesn't make it any easier for Chip to understand. Plankton's eye follows Chip as he runs off, his own expression a mix of anger and upset. He didn't like to scream, but the sensory overload from the seizure had left him on edge, his emotions raw. His son didn't mean any harm, but the sudden contact had been too much. His skin feels like it's buzzing, his mind racing with the echoes of his own voice. Plankton sighs. He doesn't like his son to see him like this, so vulnerable and out of control. Karen never liked to see Plankton upset. She knew to tread carefully with him when he's so explosive, as he's now breathing heavily. "Plankton," she starts gently, "Chip didn't mean to upset you. He's just trying to understand." But Plankton's still tense, not replying to her. Karen saw the frustration and wanted to try again, not knowing if he understood what she said. She inched closer to him cautiously. Plankton's eye darted around the room, avoiding hers. He knew his reaction was too much, but his senses were still screaming. He felt like a failure, unable to control his own body. Karen waited patiently, giving Plankton the space he needed. Her hand hovered near his arm, ready to offer comfort, but she knew better than to touch him now. Plankton's shoulders slumped as the reality of the situation sank in. He had always tried so hard to hide his seizures from Chip, not wanting to burden him. But now the secret was out, and his son had witnessed his most vulnerable moment. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had snapped at Chip. It was his way of protecting his own pride. Plankton took a deep breath, his heart thumping in his chest. He didn't want his son to see him as weak or broken. Karen's hand remained hovering, a silent offering of comfort. He knew she understood, but he didn't want her defending Chip either. Plankton's mind raced, his heart still pounding. He felt exposed, his secret laid bare for his son to see. The room was suffocating, his thoughts a tornado. He didn't want Chip to think less of him, to see him as damaged. Plankton took another deep breath, his eye focusing on anything but Karen's concerned gaze. He felt a knot in his stomach, his chest tight, both of which can in themselves cause an overload on their own. But Karen didn't realize when she reached out to touch his shoulder.. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but to Plankton, it was like a bomb had detonated in his sensory system. He jolted away, his eye wide with panic. "Sorry," Karen murmured, quickly retracting her hand. She knew better than to push when he was like this. Plankton nodded, his breathing steadying slightly. "It's okay," he managed to say, his voice still tight. "I know you're trying." Karen sat down next to him, her hand resting on the couch between them, a silent bridge of support. "We'll talk to Chip together, when you're ready." Plankton nodded, his eye still avoiding hers. In the quiet, Plankton felt his self-consciousness grow. He didn't want Chip to see him this way, to think less of him. It was something he'd managed to hide for so long, his autism, his moments of overload. Now, it was out in the open, and he felt like a creature exposed to the elements. The room felt too warm, too bright, each sound amplified. He knew his reaction was extreme, but his mind couldn't help it. The effort it took to appear 'normal' was like swimming against a riptide, and now the current had dragged him under. He could see the worry in Karen's screen, the sadness that he'd lashed out at Chip. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He didn't want Chip to think he didn't care, that he didn't want to be there for him. He just couldn't handle the touch, not now. Not with his senses still in overdrive. Karen knew that look, the one of internal battle. "Why don't we go talk to him?" she suggested, her voice soft. Plankton nodded, pushing himself out of the chair. His legs felt like jelly, his heart racing. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before opening the door to Chip's room.

GREAT CHIP iii (Autistic author) Karen followed, her screen on her husband's tentative steps. "Chip," she called out softly, knocking gently. "Can we come in?" There was no immediate response, just the faint sound of sniffling. "It's ok, sweetie," she said. "Your dad and I want to talk to you." Slowly, the door cracked open, and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out. His eyes searched theirs, looking for answers, for reassurance. Plankton's heart twisted at the sight. He had never wanted to cause his son any pain, especially not like this. He felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him as he stepped into the room, his every move feeling clumsy and exposed. "Chip," he began, his voice strained, "It's just..." Plankton's words trailed off, his gaze flitting around the room as if searching for the right ones. The air felt thick with tension. Chip looked up at him, his eyes swollen with unshed tears. "Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. But Plankton's anger hadn't subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have touched me," he snapped, his voice sharp, his frustration still palpable. "You now know better than that!" Chip flinched at his father's tone, his own eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested. Plankton's gaze was unyielding. "You should know better!" he insisted, his voice echoing with accusation. "You're not a baby anymore!" Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders shaking with held-back sobs. "But I didn't know!" he choked out, his voice small and defensive. "Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly, his eye still avoiding Chip's. "You have to respect my space!" The room felt too small, his emotions too big. Chip's face crumpled, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to..." But Plankton's anger was like a storm, unyielding. "I don't care what you wanted!" he shouted. "You can't just touch me like that!" The room felt like it was closing in, his heart racing faster with each word. He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but his own emotions were a tornado whipping through his thoughts. He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize. "It's your fault for not knowing!" Plankton's voice was like thunder, filling the room with accusation. Karen's eyes grew wide with shock, but she didn't dare to interrupt. Chip's sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the weight of his father's wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad," he pleaded, his voice thick with pain. Plankton's eye was like a stone, his words cutting through the air. "That's no excuse!" he bellowed. "You should've learned by now! Or are you just to busy with your silly games and neurotypical friends to care about your own father?" Chip's shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his sobs. He didn't know what to say, his mind a jumble of emotions. All he knew was that he had hurt his dad, and now his dad was hurt and mad at him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "It was an accident, I didn't know!" But Plankton's anger didn't abate. "Accident or not, you should've known better!" Plankton's voice grew louder, his words piercing the air like knives. "You're not a baby anymore, so don't act like one!" Chip felt his world crumbling. He didn't mean to upset Dad, but he didn't know what to do. He just wanted to help, to show his love, but it all went wrong. "But Dad," he tried again, his voice barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..." "I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared, his anger a living, breathing entity that filled the room. His words were sharp, like shards of glass in the air. Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart breaking with each accusation. He didn't understand why his dad was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..." Plankton's anger didn't waver. "You never know!" he spat. "You never pay attention!" His words were like a whip, each one stinging Chip's already bruised heart. "You think the world revolves around you!" Chip's eyes were a pool of tears, his body trembling as he tried to find the right words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger grew with each of Chip's stumbling attempts. "You just what?" he snarled, his senses overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil. He felt the urge to break something, anything to release the pressure building in his chest. With a roar, he swiped his hand across Chip's desk, sending papers flying and toys clattering to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?" he yelled, his voice shaking the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL?" Chip cowered, his eyes locked on the chaos, his mind whirling. He hadn't meant to make his dad feel like this. He didn't understand why his curiosity was so wrong. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice tiny and lost in the maelstrom of Plankton's rage. Plankton's eye was wild, his movements erratic. He knew his anger was a storm, but he couldn't stop it. The room spun around him, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He felt a hand on his arm, Karen's voice cutting through the noise in his head. "Plankton, please," she begged. But he shrugged her off, his rage now a living, breathing monster inside of him. He picked up a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations, and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound piercing the silence that followed. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his body trembling with fear. "This," Plankton said, his voice low and dangerous, "is what you do to me." He picked up another toy, his hand shaking with anger. "This is what your curiosity does!" Chip's eyes widened with fear as Plankton's hand arced back, ready to hurl it. But as the toy could leave his grip, his body seized up again, his legs buckling. Another absence seizure had struck. Karen's heart raced as she watched her husband's uncontrolled movements. She knew she had to intervene before things escalated. She rushed to Plankton's side, grabbing his arm to steady him. "Stop," she whispered urgently. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his eyes wide with fear. He had never seen his dad so out of control before. Plankton's seizure was taking over, his body betraying him once again. Karen's voice pierced the chaos, a beacon of calm. "Chip, let me handle this." Her son nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's shaky form. Karen turned to Plankton's form, supporting. "Come on," she said firmly, guiding his trembling form to their own bedroom. "Let's sit down, okay?" As they do, Plankton's still caught in the throes of the seizure. Chip felt like he was watching a stranger, his dad's body twitching uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do.

GREAT CHIP iv (Autistic author) In the bedroom, Karen managed to guide Plankton to the bed, her voice soothing. She knew his senses were heightened right now, his body a battleground. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes never leaving his dad. He felt like he didn't recognize this man who had always been his hero. The seizure passed, leaving Plankton drained. Karen helped tucked him in, her eyes filled with sadness. In the quiet that followed, she turned to Chip, his own eyes red and puffy. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she said gently. Chip nodded, his gaze still on Plankton's exhausted face. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "He'll be fine," Karen assured, her voice strained. "Just tired. This happens sometimes." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. He felt like he was seeing his dad for the first time, like he'd been looking at him through a fog and suddenly, it had lifted. He didn't know what to do with the mix of feelings swirling inside him: confusion, fear, sadness. Karen took Chip's hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's go talk, okay?" she suggested, leading him out of the room. They sat in the kitchen, the silence heavy between them. "I don't get it," Chip said finally, his voice still shaky. "Why did Dad get so mad?" Karen sighed, her grip on his hand tightening. "It's not that he's mad at you, sweetheart. It's his way of dealing with the fear and confusion. Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed, and it's like he can't control his reactions." Chip looked at her, his eyes searching for understanding. "But why does he have to break my toys?" he asked, his voice still small. Karen's heart ached for him. "It's not about the toys," she explained softly. "It's about the frustration he feels, the inability to communicate what he's going through." Chip sniffled, trying to wrap his head around it all. "But why does he get so...so...mad?" Karen's eyes were filled with understanding. "It's not just you, Chip. Sometimes, his brain needs a way to deal with everything. It's like his own personal tornado, and when it hits, it's hard for him to keep his emotions from spinning out of control." Chip nodded, still not fully understanding but willing to try. He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm. "What can I do?" Karen squeezed his hand. "Just be patient," she said. "And don't take it personally. Remember, it's not about you, it's about what he's feeling. And when he's ready, we can talk about it together." Chip nodded, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. He didn't want to upset his dad again, but he needed to know how to help. He didn't want to feel so powerless. "But what if he doesn't want to talk?" he ventured, his voice small. "Then we'll give him space," Karen said, her eyes filled with warmth. "But we'll be here, ready to listen when he does." Chip nodded, wiping away the last of his tears with the back of his hand. "Okay," he murmured, his voice still shaky. "Can I sit with him?" Karen nodded. "Just for a bit, but remember, he might not know you're there right away. Let's go." They tiptoe back into the room, the air still thick with tension. Plankton's eye is closed. Karen knows he's sleeping. Chip sits in the chair beside the bed, watching his dad's chest rise and fall. He reaches out to touch Plankton's hand, but stops. He didn't want to startle him, not after what happened. His mind raced with questions, but he knew now was not the time to ask. Instead, Chip took a deep breath, his hand hovering over Plankton's. He didn't know how to make it right, but he knew he had to try. Karen watched from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of her family's pain. She knew this was a moment that could either build a wall or bridge the gap between father and son. Chip's hand hovered, unsure, before finally landing on his dad's. Plankton's antennae twitched, and Chip looked up to see his mother's eyes glistening with proud tears. Karen offered a gentle smile. "You can sit with him," she whispered. "Just don't touch him anywhere else." Chip nodded and pulled the chair closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving his dad's still face. He sat for what felt like hours, his hand resting gently on Plankton's. Every now and then, his dad's antennae would twitch, and he'd hold his breath, afraid that he'd wake him up. But Plankton remained still, lost in a deep slumber. The room was quiet, save for the soft snores escaping his dad's mouth. Chip stared at his hand on Plankton's, his mind racing with everything he'd learned. Autism, seizures, the way his dad's brain worked differently. It was all so new and overwhelming. He felt a pang of guilt for not knowing sooner, for not understanding. But Karen's words echoed in his mind: his dad's reactions weren't personal. It was just how his brain dealt with stress. Chip leaned back in the chair, his eyes heavy with the weight of the day's events. He watched his dad's chest rise and fall, the steady rhythm comforting him. His thoughts swirled with questions and confusion, but he knew one thing for sure: he loved his dad, no matter what. As the minutes ticked by, his fear turned into resolve. He would learn more about his father and try to find a way to support him without setting off the storm of sensory overload.

GREAT CHIP v (Autistic author) Eventually, Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching slightly. His eye opens, and for a moment, he's disoriented. He looks at Chip, then at his hand on his own, and a flicker of memory passes through his eye. He then pulls his hand away. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says softly. "I'm here." Plankton's expression shifts. He sighs, his eye dropping to his son's hand. "Chip," he murmurs. "Wh-what happened?" Chip's heart skips a beat. He wasn't sure how much to say, but he knew he couldn't lie. "You had another... moment," he says carefully. Plankton's face falls, the weight of his own reality crashing down on him like a heavy fog. He nods slowly, his eye searching the room as if trying to piece together the puzzle of his lost time. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know." Plankton's eye meets his, the anger dissipating like the fog. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice weary. "I just... I can't handle much sometimes." Chip nods, feeling a lump in his throat. "Can I hug you?" he asks tentatively, remembering his mother's advice. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye searching Chip's face. After a moment, he nods. "Yes, but just for a second." Chip leans in carefully, wrapping his arms around his dad's shoulders. Plankton tenses, his body a coil of nerves. The hug is brief, but it feels like an eternity to Chip. He pulls back, his eyes searching Plankton's face. "Are you okay?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "I will be," he says, his voice weary. "I just need some time to regroup." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions and fears. He didn't know what to say, how to fix this. He just knew he didn't want his dad to feel like this. Karen watches from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of the unspoken words between them. She wishes she could take the pain away, but she knows that this moment belonged to her husband and her son. Chip's hand lingers in the space where Plankton's was, feeling the warmth that's no longer there. He swallows hard, trying to push his fears aside. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice trembling. Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae twitching as he tries to gather his thoughts. "Just maybe try not to touch me... unless I ask." The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that's opened between them. Chip nods solemnly, his heart heavy. He doesn't fully understand his dad's condition, but he knows it's real and it's painful. And he knows he played a part in it today. "Dad," he starts tentatively, "Can we talk about your... moments?" Plankton's antennae droop. "What do you want to know?" he asks, his voice sounding more tired than defensive. Chip takes a deep breath, trying to formulate his thoughts. "Well, I just want to understand what you go through. What happens during those moments?" Plankton looks away, his face contorting with the effort of explaining. "It's like my brain goes on a vacation without me," he says finally. "Everything's too much, and I just... zone out." Chip nods, trying to picture it. "What's it like? The zoning out, I mean." Plankton sighs, his antennae waving slightly. "It's like... being in a movie theater, but instead of watching the movie, the lights and sounds are all around me. They're too bright, too loud. And when I come back, it's like the movie's still playing in fast forward. I miss parts of it, and I can't rewind." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, it's like a break, but it's not fun for you?" Plankton nods. "It's more like a reboot. My brain needs it, but it's scary not knowing when it'll happen or how long it'll last." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, seeing the vulnerability behind the usual bravado. "But why do you get so mad sometimes?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his face contorting with the effort of explaining. "It's like... everything's too much, and then I can't stop it," he said. "It's like being stuck in a loop of noises and feelings, and I just need to make it stop. And sometimes, that means getting angry." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, trying to understand. "But why does it make you so mad?" Plankton's antennae drooped. "It's not just from anger," he corrected gently. "It's overstimulation. My brain can't process everything at once, so it shuts down to protect itself." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with realization. He'd never thought of it like that before. "So, it's like you're in a crowded room, and everyone's talking at you at the same time?" Plankton's eye lit up slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "And when you touch me afterward, it's like someone turning the volume up even louder." Chip's hand retreated to his lap, understanding dawning on his face. "So, it's like... sensory overload?" Plankton nodded, his eye closing briefly. "Yes, it's like my brain's circuits are fried, and I just need a reset." Chip sat quietly, absorbing his father's words. He'd never thought about it from that perspective before. He knew his dad was different, but he didn't understand the depth of his struggle. "What about the seizures?" Chip asked, his voice tentative. "Do they feel like that too?" Plankton nodded, his antennae waving slightly. "They're like... a storm in my head," he said, his voice strained. "They come without warning, and I can't do anything to stop them. It's like everything's too much, and my brain has to shut down to protect itself." Chip's eyes grew wide with empathy. "That sounds scary. But I've seen you hug mom.." Plankton sighed, his antennae waving slightly. "It's different with your mom. She knows how to touch me without making it too much." Chip's mind raced, trying to grasp the complexities of his dad's neurodivergence. "But how?" he pressed, eager to learn. Plankton took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's like...everything is too loud or too bright, and I can't just turn it down. So, when I get overwhelmed, my brain goes to 'sleep' for a bit." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on his father's antennae which had stopped their erratic twitching. "But what if I want to hug you?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton's eye opened, a glimmer of something akin to hope flickering within its depths. "Then you ask," he said simply. "You ask, and if I say yes, you hug me gently. Like this." He demonstrated by placing his own hand on Chip's shoulder, his grip firm but not tight. "But only if I'm okay with it, okay?" Chip nodded, feeling a weight lift slightly from his chest. "Okay," he whispered, his voice shaky with emotion.

GREAT CHIP vi (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitched, his face etched with lines of fatigue. "It's not that I don't want your affection," he said, his voice hoarse. "I just need it in a way that doesn't make me feel... like I'm in a minefield." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his mind racing to understand. "How do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity genuine. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae twitching as he searched for the right words. "It's like... sometimes, a simple touch can feel like an electric shock," he began, his voice strained. "Or like I'm being smothered by a heavy blanket of sound." Chip's eyes widened, trying to comprehend. "But you've always hugged mom," he said, his voice filled with confusion. Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "It's different with your mother," he explained, his voice a little less strained. "She knows me, she knows my limits. And she's... patient." He paused, his eye flickering with something resembling sadness. "But others, it's..." Chip leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What about others?" he asked gently. Plankton's antennae twitched, his expression tightening. "With others, it's... unpredictable," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and resignation. "Some days I can handle a pat on the back, and others, it's like being stabbed." Chip's eyes widened, his hand instinctively moving to his chest. "It's that intense?" he whispered. Plankton nodded, his antennae waving slightly. "Some days are worse than others," he said, his voice soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like I'm being bombarded from all sides. It's...overwhelming." Chip's brow furrowed as he tried to imagine the intensity his dad described. "What can I do to make sure I don't hurt you?" he asked, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, his eye searching Chip's face. "Just be mindful," he said, his voice softer than before. "Watch for my cues. If I look overwhelmed, if I flinch, just...give me space." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "What are the cues?" he asked, eager to learn. "How do I know when you're in that 'minefield'?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching for the right words. "Well, my antennae might twitch a lot, I might get really quiet, or I might get louder. It's different every time." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "So, if you're in that 'minefield', I should just...?" "You can be there," Plankton finished for him, his antennae still. "But not too close. Make sure to get your mother." Chip nodded, his mind racing with the new information. He'd always known his dad was special, but this was a new kind of understanding. "What about sounds?" he asked, his voice tentative. "What noises set you off?" Plankton sighed, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's not just about the loudness," he began, his eye searching the ceiling as if for an answer. "It's more about the pitch, the suddenness. Like when you scratch or drop something.." Chip's eyes grew wide with realization. "Oh," he murmured. "So, it's like a surprise attack?" Plankton's antennae nodded. "Exactly," he said, his voice sounding a bit less strained. "But it's not just about the sounds themselves. It's about how my brain interprets them." Chip leaned in, his eyes filled with curiosity. "But how did you get it, Dad?" he asked, his voice soft. "Was it from something you caught or something that happened?" Plankton's antennae waved in frustration. "It's not like that," he said, his voice sharp. "I was born with it. It's just the way my brain is developed, and it's not like getting a cold!" His eye was intense, his voice rising. Chip's eyes widened, taking in his father's outburst. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae dropping slightly. "I know you didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice softer. "But it's important to understand that it's not something I can just get over. It's a part of how I am." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of his father's words. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "I..." Plankton's antennae waved gently, his eye softening. "It's okay," he said. "I know you didn't mean to upset me. It's just...it's a lot to explain." Chip nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. He knew his dad wasn't mad at him, but it was still hard to see him so upset. Plankton's eye searched his son's face, the anger slowly fading into something softer. "Look," he said, his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I need you to know that I l-love you." Chip felt a tear slide down his cheek. "I love you too, Dad," he managed to say, his voice choking with emotion. "But I don't want you to be in pain." Plankton's antennae waved gently, his expression a mix of love and sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why we're talking about this. So you can understand, so you know." Chip sniffled, trying to hold back his tears. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, his voice small. Plankton's antennae drooped, his face etched with regret. "I was afraid," he admitted. "Afraid that you'd think I was broken. That you'd... not love me the same. And I don't usually like to talk about it to much." Chip felt his heart ache. "Dad," he said, his voice steady despite his emotions. "I could never think of you as broken. You're the smartest person I know. And you're my hero." Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the words, his eye filling with warmth. "But you don't see me like that when I'm... in that state," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm to be feared." Chip's eyes widened, a look of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!" he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!" Plankton's antennae drooped, his expression one of defeat. "It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not like I can control it." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew his dad wasn't broken, but he wished there was something he could do to ease his pain. "What happens when you're in that state?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye closed as he tried to explain. "It's like my brain's in a whirlwind, and I can't get out," he said. "Everything's spinning, and I can't focus on anything." "But why do you get so upset when it happens?" he pressed. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae stilling. "Because I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice strained. "And when it's over, I don't remember." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his heart breaking for him. "But why don't you remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye opening slightly. "It's like waking up from a deep sleep," he murmured. "I know I've been somewhere, but the details are always fuzzy." Chip nodded, trying to imagine his dad's world. "What do you see?" he asked, his voice filled with awe. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye focusing on a spot on the wall. "It's like...colors and shapes," he said, his voice distant. "They're all swirling around, so fast that I can't make sense of them." Chip's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?" he asked, his voice filled with awe. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way," he murmured. "But it's more... dis..." The door to the room creaked open, interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in, her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton. The tension in the air was palpable, but she offered a small smile of encouragement. "Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?" Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick with the weight of their conversation.

GREAT CHIP vii (Autistic author) Karen's eyes searched their faces, picking up on the unspoken tension. "I see you two had a talk," she said gently, her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Tired," he admitted. "But better." Karen stepped closer to the bed, her hand reaching out to cover his own. "I'm here," she said softly. "Do you remember what happened in Chip's room before coming in here?" Plankton's antennae twitched nervously. "Bits and pieces," he admitted, his eye avoiding hers. "I know I had a...moment. And I... I was mad." Karen's hand squeezed his gently. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed. It's just your brain's way of coping." Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae still. "But the things I said..." his voice trailing off. Karen's expression remained calm, understanding. "They were the seizure's words, not yours," she assured him. "We're just glad you're okay." Chip's gaze flitted between his parents, his heart aching for his dad. He knew he needed to be strong, to support his father through this. "Can we talk more about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice filled with hope. Plankton's antennae nodded wearily. "We can," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "But for now, I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.." Chip felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of his dad's struggle, but he also felt a spark of hope. Maybe tomorrow would bring a new understanding, a way to bridge the gap between them. The next morning, the sun streamed through the blinds of their small, cluttered bedroom, casting patterns on the floor. Chip stirred, his mind filled with the memories of the previous night's conversation. He checked on Plankton, who was still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly. He knew today would be a new day, a chance to start anew with his father. Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen, his thoughts racing with the promise of understanding. He found Karen at the counter, sipping her morning coffee, her eyes red-rimmed from the night's worry. "Mom," he began, his voice still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?" Karen turned, her eyes filled with the same exhaustion he saw in Plankton's. "Of course, honey," she said, placing her mug down gently. Chip took a deep breath, his words spilling out like water from a broken dam. "I want to understand Dad's condition," he said, his voice determined. "I don't want to make it worse for him." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the sincerity in his gaze. "That's a big step, Chip," she said, her voice filled with pride. "But it's not going to be easy. It'll take patience and practice." Chip nodded, his expression resolute. "I'm ready," he said. "I just don't want Dad to be alone in this." Karen's face softened, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You're such a good son," she said, her voice warm with affection. "But remember, he might not always know how to ask for help. Sometimes, you'll have to read between the lines." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "But what if I mess up?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You might," she said, her voice filled with experience. "But that's okay. Just keep trying, and we'll figure it out together." Her words echoed in Chip's head as he sat down at the kitchen table, his eyes never leaving his mother's. "But how do I know what to do?" Karen took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a quiet strength. "You'll learn," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "It's about patience and observation. And most importantly, communication." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Okay," he said. "I'll do my best." Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder gently. "You already are," she said, her smile warm. Chip felt a surge of determination. He was going to be there for his dad, no matter what it took. "What can I do now?" he asked, eager to start. Karen's eyes searched his, a hint of sadness in them. "Now, we wait," she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes, be there, but don't overwhelm him." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions: fear, love, and a newfound determination to be the best son he could be. As he waited for Plankton to wake up, he tried to remember the cues his dad had mentioned: twitching antennae, a sudden quietness, a look of overwhelm. He promised himself to be more aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

GREAT CHIP viii (Autistic author) When Plankton finally came out Chip approached with caution. He didn't want to scare his dad, didn't want to cause another seizure. "Hey, Dad," he said softly. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking towards Chip. "Tired," he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep. "But okay." Chip felt his chest tighten with relief. He'd been worried about his dad all night, scared that another seizure would strike without warning. "Can we talk?" Chip asked, his voice gentle as he approached Plankton. He didn't want to push, but he needed to make sure they were okay. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching Chip's face. "Of course," he said, his voice still groggy. He sat down at the kitchen table, his body language open but cautious. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing with the need to get this right. "Dad, I know last night was... scary," he began, his voice shaky. "But I want to be there for you." Plankton's antennae waved slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and fatigue. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I mean, I want to understand your seizures and what you go through," he said, his eyes never leaving his father's. "So that maybe I can help." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye narrowing slightly. "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his thoughts racing. "Everything," he said, his voice earnest. "What happens before, during, and after. What you feel, what you see..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his face scrunching up slightly. "Why?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "What's the point of reliving it?" Chip took a step back, surprised by his father's sudden irritation. "I just want to understand," he said, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae waved erratically, his eye flashing. "It's not a show, Chip," he snapped. "It's not something to be poked and prodded at." Chip felt his cheeks flush with heat, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I'm not trying to pry," he said, his voice shaking with frustration. "I just want to help!" Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye narrowed. "You can't help," he said, his voice cold. "You don't get it." Chip's heart sank, feeling the distance between them growing wider. "But Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I'm trying." Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his face a mask of agitation. "You can't," he said, his voice clipped. "You don't know what it's like!" Chip felt a wave of frustration crash over him, his hands clenching into fists. "That's why I'm asking!" he exclaimed. "I'm not trying to make it about me!" Plankton's focusing solely on Chip. "You don't get it," he said, his voice softening slightly. "It's not about you, but it's also not something you can fix." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his heart racing with a mix of anger and hurt. He knew Plankton wasn't trying to be cruel, but the words stung. "I just want to be there for you," he said, his voice shaky. "To make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his eye flashing with agitation. "I don't need you to fix me," he snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "I just need you to leave me alone sometimes." Chip took a step back, his eyes watering with the sting of his father's words. "I just want..." "I know what you want," Plankton cut in, his antennae vibrating with irritation. "But you can't fix this, Chip. It's not a puzzle you can solve with a pat on the back or a hug." The room grew tense, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip felt his throat tighten, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He knew his father's snappy tone was a defense mechanism, a way to keep the world at bay when it all became too much. But it still hurt.

GREAT CHIP ix (Autistic author) Chip took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I know I can't fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. Plankton's antennae stopped moving, his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity that made him feel like he was being x-rayed. "You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you can support me. You can be there without trying to change me." Chip nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say. "But I want to understand. I want to be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?" he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds fun, right?" Chip felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth despite the tension, which only adds to Plankton's anger. "Well, when you put it that way..." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye squinting at his son's response. "What?" he barked, his voice sharp. Chip tried to hold onto his smile, his heart racing. "I mean, if it's like a pinball machine, I can learn the patterns," he said, his tone carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video games, so..." Plankton's antennae waved wildly, his eye flashing with anger. "You think this is a game?" he shouted, his voice filling the room. "You think I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!" Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide with shock at his father's outburst. He took a step back, his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I just..." "You just what?" Plankton spat, his small body vibrating with rage. "You just don't get it! You can't get it! You're not autistic, you don't know what it's like to have your brain turn on you like that!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his heart breaking at the accusation. "I know, Dad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying." Plankton's antennae quivered with the force of his rage. "You don't know," he said, his voice cold. "You can't know. All I see is a little child playing pretend, thinking he can understand what I go through! And yet you're the one asking for help! Face it, you're never going to get it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!" Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting like a sledgehammer. He had never seen his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae stopped their wild movements, his eye focusing on his son with a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to help by poking fun at my condition?" Chip's eyes searched his father's, his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to lighten the mood." Plankton's antennae waved, his eye still cold and distant. "Don't," he said, his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten it. And don't you DARE make fun of it." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his heart aching with the weight of his father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I di-" "You're sorry?" Plankton's voice was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist on the table, causing their plates to rattle. "You think an apology is enough when you belittle what I go through?" Chip's eyes widened with fear as his dad's anger grew. He'd never seen Plankton like this before, his tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae thrashing like live wires. The kitchen felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in. "Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean it that way." But Plankton was beyond listening, his tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!" Chip took another step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never seen his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-" he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop. "You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted, his antennae a blur of motion. "You think it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew louder, his words sharper. "You think it's easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?" Chip's eyes filled with tears as his father's anger grew, his voice crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make light of his dad's condition, but now it seemed as if he'd made everything worse. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands shaking. Plankton's antennae whipped around his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't make it go away!" he screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. "You think you can make it better with a laugh?" He slammed his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot. "It's not a joke, Chip!" Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched his father's outburst, his heart pounding. He had never seen Plankton like this, his anger a living, breathing thing that filled the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered, his voice shaking. "But I want to help." Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want to help? Then stop making it about you!" Chip's eyes grew wide with fear as he watched his father's anger boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please," he whispered, his heart racing. Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his body vibrating with uncontrollable rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the coffee mug from the table, flinging it across the room where it shattered against the wall. Shards of ceramic flew everywhere, puncturing the silence like shrapnel. "Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing faster than it ever had before. He had never seen Plankton this out of control. And Karen knew she had to act fast. Her voice was calm but firm as she approached Plankton. "Sweetie, it's okay," she said, her hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "Let's go to your workshop. You know that's your safe space." Plankton's antennae thrashed, his eye darting around the room, seeking anything to target his anger. "I don't want to go anywhere!" he roared, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "It's not okay!" Karen stepped closer, her voice steady. "It's okay to be upset," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "But Chip..." But Plankton's rage was unstoppable. He lunged for the nearest object, a framed photo of Chip, his grip tightening as he raised it over his head, ready to smash it against the floor. Karen's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to defuse the situation before it got any worse. "Plankton, no," she pleaded, her voice steady. "Please, don't." But Plankton's rage had taken over, his body moving on autopilot as he swung the photo frame with all his might. It crashed to the floor, the shattering glass echoing in the small room. Chip's eyes grew round with shock, his body frozen in place as he watched his father's tantrum unfold. "Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!" But Plankton's rage was a runaway train, his antennae quivering with the intensity of his anger. He stomped over to the counter, grabbing a plate and flinging it against the wall, where it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine. Karen stepped in front of Chip, placing herself between him and the storm of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly, her voice a calm oasis in the chaos. "You're scaring him." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on Karen with a mix of anger and confusion. For a moment, his body seemed to pause, his arm still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it, the soft fabric landing limply on the floor. Karen's eyes searched her husband's, seeing the turmoil behind the rage. "Please, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "Let's talk about this." But Plankton's anger was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He picked up another mug, his arm winding up to throw it, when Chip suddenly stepped forward, his eyes locked on his father's. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "Please don't." Plankton's antennae paused, his arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled, his eye wild with anger. "You think you can just tell me what to do?" And then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction, Plankton hurled the mug in front of Chip, purposefully missing him. The room seemed to hold its breath as the mug spun through the air, the shattering of porcelain on the tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad," Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not about control. It's about us. Our fam..." But Plankton was beyond words, his rage a living entity that consumed him. He grabbed a toaster, his grip white-knuckled, and hurled it at the fridge, the metallic clang a cacophony in the small kitchen. "I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" he bellowed, his antennae a blur.

GREAT CHIP x (Autistic author) Chip flinched, his eyes wide with fear as the toaster bounced off the fridge, landing on the floor with a clatter. "Dad, please," he begged, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." "Good," Plankton says. "Then maybe you'll understand that this isn't a joke!" He picks up another object, a jar of jellyfish jelly, and hurls it across the room. It explodes on the wall, the sticky substance oozing down like a rainbow of pain. Karen steps closer, her voice calm but firm. "Plankton, enough," she says, her eyes never leaving his. "This isn't helping anyone." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body still shaking with anger. "How can you say that?" he says, his voice shaking the room. "How can you sit there and act like everything's fine, when your 'son' thinks he can just 'fix' me?" Chip felt his heart plummet, the weight of his father's anger a heavy rock in his chest. "Dad, I never said..." he began, but Plankton talked over him. "You think you can just waltz in here and tell me what I need?" His antennae thrashed wildly. "You don't know anything about..." Suddenly, Chip's frustration boiled over, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "You're right," he spat. "I don't know what it's like to be a failure who can't even take care of himself! I don't know what it's like to be so weak that you have to hide behind your condition! I don't know what it's like to be unlovable and broken!" Karen's eyes went wide with disbelief, her heart aching for her husband, as Chip's harsh words echoed through the room. The room fell silent, the sting of Chip's accusation lingering in the air like a noxious fume. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body slumping slightly. "Fine," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If that's what you think, then I guess I don't need you." The words hung in the air, heavier than the shattered mug at their feet. Chip felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, the breath knocked out of him. "Dad," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton was already turning away, his antennae drooping as he shuffled towards his workshop. The slamming of the door reverberated through the house, leaving only the steady drip of jellyfish jelly to break the silence. Karen looked at Chip, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. She could see the regret etched on his face, the pain of his own words reflecting back at him. "Chip," she said gently, her voice trembling with held-back sobs. "You didn't mean that." It was a statement, not a question, but her eyes searched his for any sign of disagreement. He looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to help him," he said, his voice cracking. "I just want to be there for him, Mom. But he won't let me in." Karen's expression was a mix of sadness and anger. She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "You don't help someone by making them feel smaller," she said, her voice firm. "You don't fix someone by calling them broken." Chip's shoulders slumped, his eyes falling to the floor. "I know," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "But he's just... so... I just wanted to make him feel better." Karen's gaze was stern, her voice a gentle rebuke. "And you thought hurting his feelings would do that?" She sighed heavily, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. "You have to be more careful, Chip. Your words are like bombs when you don't understand how powerful they are." Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, the weight of his mother's disappointment crushing him. "But I just..." he began, his voice trailing off as he fought to find the right words. "I know you're trying," Karen said, her voice softening. "But you can't fix your dad's seizures with a hug or a joke, sweetie. They're a part of who he is, and he's scared. And you, calling him 'unlovable'...that's not you, Chip." Her screen searched his, willing him to understand the gravity of his words. Chip felt his throat tighten, the weight of his mother's disappointment heavy on his shoulders. He knew she was right, that his words had been a knee-jerk reaction to Plankton's outburst, but the pain in his father's eye lingered, a stark reminder of the hurt he'd caused. "I'm sorry, Mom," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own breathing. Karen's face softened, the anger in her eyes giving way to a sadness that was even more heartbreaking. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on Chip's shoulder. "I know you didn't mean it, honey," she said, her voice quivering. "But you have to understand that words can cut deeper than any weapon. And I always love your father, no matter what. That's what you need to do too." Chip felt his eyes sting with the truth of her words. He knew she was right, but the anger and frustration he'd felt in the moment had overridden his usual compassion. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the weight of his apology feeling heavier than any burden he'd ever carried. "I just..." "Sorry isn't enough," Karen said, her voice trembling with a mix of sadness and anger. "You hurt your father, deeply. And you hurt me." Her hand slid from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake. Chip's eyes snapped up to meet hers, his own filled with a blend of shock and remorse. "I didn't mean it," he said, his voice small and lost. "I just..." Karen's expression was a thundercloud of disappointment. "You didn't mean it?" she echoed. "But you said it, Chip. And those words are like a knife in the heart, and you know his amplified emotional response is part of his condition. How do you think that makes him feel when he's already so sensitive?" Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, his cheeks burning with shame. "I know," he whispered, his voice tight with regret. "I just... I didn't know how else to help, he's..." "Chip, you're old enough to understand that sometimes, there's nothing you can do to take someone's pain away," Karen said, her voice firm yet filled with sadness. "But you can't make it worse. You have to be there for him, without making it about you." Her words hit Chip like a slap in the face, his cheeks burning with the sting of truth. He'd never thought about it that way before, his own hurt feelings overshadowing the gravity of his father's condition. "But what can I do?" he asked, his voice small and defeated. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes still full of sadness. "You can listen," she said, enunciating each word carefully. "You can be there for him without expecting anything in return. You can respect his boundaries and understand that sometimes, he just needs space." Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. "But I want to make it better," he said, his voice small. "I don't want him to feel like he's alone." Karen's eyes searched his, her expression softening. "I know you do," she said gently. "But you can't fix everything, and you can't make his condition go away. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just be there." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing. How could he be there for his father without causing more harm? The silence in the kitchen was deafening, the only sound the distant hum of Plankton's workshop. Karen's voice was a gentle guide in the quiet, her words sinking into his soul like a warm embrace.

GREAT CHIP xi (Autistic author) After a moment, she turned and walked towards the workshop door, her steps slow and deliberate. She paused, her hand on the doorknob, looking back at Chip with a mixture of pain and resolve. "I'll check on your father," she said, her voice a whisper. "You... you clean up here." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his mother's. He knew she was hurting too, but she was putting on a brave face for him. As she disappeared into the workshop, his heart felt like it was in a vice. He'd never seen his parents like this before. The kitchen was a mess of shattered dishes and splattered jelly, a stark contrast to the usually pristine space. He took a deep breath and began to collect the broken pieces, his mind racing with thoughts of his father's pain. Karen's footsteps were quiet as she approached the workshop, the door slightly ajar. She could hear Plankton's muffled sobs from inside, his tiny body hunched over his workbench. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she might find. The room was a whirlwind of half-finished inventions, wires and gadgets scattered about. Her heart broke at the sight of her husband, the usually stoic and resourceful Plankton, reduced to a tiny, shaking figure, his antennae drooped like the wilted leaves of a forgotten houseplant. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was a soft whisper, cutting through the quiet. He didn't look up, his sobs the only sound in the cluttered room. Slowly, she approached, her eyes taking in the chaos around them. "Honey," she began, her voice trembling. "I know you're upset, but..." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. Karen reached out, her hand hovering over his shoulder, uncertain whether to touch him. Finally, she decided that in this moment, space was what he needed most. She stood there, a silent sentinel, her presence a gentle reminder that she was there for him. "Plankton," she said softly, her voice a balm in the storm of his rage. "Can I get you anything?" Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his tiny frame heaving with the weight of his emotions. "No," he said, his voice muffled. Karen took a step closer, her hand still hovering. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked, her tone gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched, his head nodding slightly. It was the barest of movements, but it spoke volumes to Karen. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, careful not to press too hard. He stiffened at first, but then, ever so slightly, leaned into her. Her embrace was gentle, her touch like a soft breeze, offering comfort without smothering his pain. "I always love you." The words hung in the air, their quiet strength a stark contrast to the chaos of the kitchen. Plankton felt his body begin to relax, his sobs easing as Karen's warmth seeped in. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to... I don't know..." Karen's grip tightened, her hand sliding up to cradle his head. "It's okay," she soothed, her voice a gentle lullaby. Plankton's antennae twitched nervously against her, but he didn't pull away. He knew she was there for him, even when his own mind was a tempest of confusion. "You don't have to apologize," Karen whispered. Her words were a balm to Plankton's raw nerves, and he leaned into her embrace. She knew he was sensitive post-episode, his emotions like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap. Her heart ached for him, for the fear and frustration he felt in those moments. Karen's eyes scanned the room, noticing the chaos of Plankton's workshop, his mind's refuge. Usually, the disarray was organized, each gear and wire in its place. Now, it was as though a tornado had swept through, leaving a trail of half-finished inventions in its wake. Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his body still tense under her touch. "I just... I don't want you to look at me and see something broken and unlovable.." Karen's eyes filled with tears. "You are you, and that is all I've ever loved." The words hung in the air, a gentle rebuttal to the harshness of the earlier scene. Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his breathing evening out. Chip hovered at the entrance, his heart a tumultuous sea of regret and fear. He'd hurt his father, and he didn't know how to fix it. He took a tentative step into the workshop, his eyes scanning the room. The mess was a stark reminder of the turmoil Plankton was feeling, and it only served to amplify Chip's own guilt. He watched his mother's careful movements, her gentle touch, and he desperately wanted to do the same.

GREAT CHIP xii (Autistic author) Mustering his courage, Chip approached, his own arms reaching out to mirror Karen's embrace. But as soon as Chip's fingers made contact with Plankton's shoulder, he flinched, his body stiffening like a board. "NO!" he shouted. The anger in Plankton's voice was like a slap, the pain of his rejection a sharp knife twisting in Chip's gut. "But Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tense. "Don't!" he shouted, pushing away from them both. "Don't touch me!" His voice was ragged, his eye wide with fear and anger. Chip froze, his hand hovering in the air. He'd wanted to comfort his father, to somehow make amends for the cruel words he'd flung earlier. But his attempt had only caused more pain, and he felt the weight of his mistake like an anchor around his neck. Plankton's eyes narrowed, his antennae waving in agitation. "You think you can just...touch me?" he spat, his voice a whipcrack of anger. "You don't get it, you never will!" He shrugged off their embraces, his tiny frame quivering with fury and despair. Karen stepped back, her eyes filled with a sadness that was even deeper than the anger. "Chip," she said gently. "Give him some space." Her voice was like a lifeline, but Chip's hands remained outstretched, his eyes pleading. He didn't understand why his touch, which had always been welcomed before, was now a source of pain. "But Mom's touch d..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye blazing with anger. "Don't you dare compare yourself to your mother!" he roared, his voice echoing in the cramped workshop. "You don't know what it's like to live with this, to have to explain it over and over again!" Chip felt his heart shatter, the harshness of his father's words cutting deeper than any insult "It's the same touch as hers! I don't understand any differ..." But Plankton's anger was a whirlwind, a maelstrom that drowned out any attempt at reason. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice a volcanic eruption of pain. "You can't just... just pretend you know!" Karen's eyes filled with sadness, but she kept her voice steady. "Chip, please," she said, her tone a plea. "Give your father some space." But Chip was desperate, his heart a tangled mess of guilt and fear. He stepped closer, reaching out to mimic his mother's gentle touch. His hand hovered over Plankton's shoulder, but as soon as his fingertips made contact, his father's body stiffened. Plankton's antennae shot up like spikes, his eye wide. Chip's breath caught in his throat as he watched his father's pupil dilate, his gaze going distant. "Dad?" he whispered, his voice trembling. But Plankton didn't respond, didn't move, his body frozen in a trance-like state. Karen's eyes widened in recognition of the familiar symptom, and she quickly stepped in front of Chip, placing a gentle hand on his chest to keep him from approaching. "It's another one," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick as the silence grew. Plankton's tiny body remained statue-still, his eye unfocused and unmoving. Chip's eyes were wide with fear, his hands hovering in the space where he'd just attempted to touch his father. He could see the fear in his mother's eyes, but he didn't understand why his touch was so wrong. "What's happening?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen's expression was a mix of concern and resignation. "It's another seizure," she said softly, her voice filled with a sadness that Chip had never heard before. "His body's just... trying to cope." Chip felt his heart race, his father's stillness a stark contrast to the frenetic energy that usually filled the room. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, and he stumbled back, his hand dropping to his side. "But I didn't mean to..." his voice trailed off, the words seemingly too heavy to be spoken. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's face as she gently scooped him up, her movements precise and practiced. "Let's get you to bed, honey," she said, her voice a soothing melody in the storm of his seizure. Plankton was so light in her arms, almost weightless, his antennae drooping limply beside his face. His usual fiery spirit was gone, replaced by a frightening calm that made Chip's heart race. They moved through the house in a slow dance of care, avoiding obstacles with the grace of long practice. Chip followed behind, his eyes glued to his father's still form, fear a cold hand around his throat. The hallway stretched like an eternity, each step closer to Plankton's bedroom a silent plea for his father to wake. The bedroom door creaked open, revealing a sanctuary of order and solitude. Karen navigated the space with ease, laying Plankton down on the neatly made bed with a gentle sigh. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes taking in the scene with a mix of awe and dread. The bed was a bastion of calm in the storm of Plankton's mind, the soft blue comforter a stark contrast to his father's usual chaotic energy. Karen arranged the pillows with the care of a sculptor, her movements precise and practiced. She pulled the covers up to his chin, her eyes never leaving his still face. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern, the only sign that he was alive. Chip watched, his heart racing, as his mother sat by the bed. The silence was a living, breathing entity, filling every corner of the room like a thick fog. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's still face, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to smooth his antennae. Chip hovered in the doorway, his own fear and confusion reflected in the shimmer of the dim light. He watched as his mother moved with a grace that seemed almost alien, her movements soothing and gentle, as if she were handling the most delicate of instruments. Plankton lay on the bed, his body still as a statue's, his eye unblinking. Karen pulled the comforter up to his chest, her hand lingering for a moment before retreating. The quiet was so deep, Chip could almost hear his own heart pounding in his chest. The room was a stark contrast to Plankton's usual cluttered workshop, his sanctuary of chaos and creation. Here, everything was in its place, each item a silent sentinel to the peace they all wished Plankton could find, a place where Plankton had always found solace. Karen sat beside the bed, her eyes never leaving her husband's serene face. She knew the chaos raging behind his unblinking eye, the maelstrom of his thoughts that only he could see. Her hand hovered over him, her thumb gently stroking his antennae, a silent promise of her love and support. Chip watched from the doorway, his heart a tumultuous sea of regret and fear. He'd never seen his father so vulnerable, so lost in his own mind. He wanted to apologize, to take back the hurtful words, but he knew it was not the time for talking. Instead, he settled for a silent promise, a vow to be there, to understand. ruder in the sacred space, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Karen looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. She offered a sad smile, a silent acknowledgment of his presence. "Why don't you go get him another blanket?" she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. Chip nodded, his legs moving on autopilot as he retreated to the hallway. He just hoped that when Plankton woke up, he'd be able to make amends.

GREAT CHIP xiii (Autistic author) In the quiet of the corridor, Chip's thoughts raced like a pinball machine on tilt. What had he done? How could he have hurt his father so? The hallway was a blur as he searched for the linen closet, his eyes stinging with the tears he'd held back. Meanwhile, in his own bed, Plankton stirred, his antennae twitching as the world swam back into focus. He took a moment to assess his surroundings, his heart racing in his chest. The last thing he remembered was anger, a fiery rage that had consumed him whole. Karen's voice was a lifeline in the fog, her gentle tone cutting through the silence like a knife. "Honey, it's okay," she murmured, her hand a soft shield against the harshness of reality. Plankton blinked slowly, his antennae rising with caution. The room swirled around him, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that slowly coalesced into the familiar sight of his bedroom. The soft hum of his ceiling fan was a comforting lullaby, a reminder that he was safe, that his world hadn't crumbled. Plankton's antennae twitched as his eye found Karen's worried face. "You're okay," she whispered, her hand still stroking his antennae with a gentle rhythm. "You had another one." The words were a soothing balm to Plankton's frayed nerves, his body slowly relaxing into the warmth of her touch. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a pattern that mirrored hers. The door to the bedroom opened, and Chip stepped in, his arms wrapped around a soft, plush blanket. His eyes were red, and his face was a canvas of regret and worry. "Here," Karen whispered, taking the blanket from him and placing it over Plankton's shivering form. "Thank you, sweetie." Her voice was a lifeline in the storm of Plankton's confusion. Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's face. He wanted to say sorry, to explain that he hadn't meant to cause more pain, but the words stuck in his throat, a lump of guilt. Plankton's antennae twitched again, his eye focusing on Chip with a mix of confusion and anger. "What do you want?" he rasped, his voice raw. Chip's throat tightened, his hand clutching the bedpost for support. "I just... I wanted to... to say sorry," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "For... for not understanding," he finally managed to say, his voice trembling. "For making you feel like I don't care about your... your neurodisability." Plankton's antennae drooped, his body visibly relaxing under the weight of the blanket. He took a moment, his chest rising and falling under the plush fabric. "You don't get it," he murmured, his voice tired. "You can't just say sorry and expect it to go away." Karen's eyes met Chip's, her gaze filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. She knew the depth of Plankton's pain, the constant battle he faced with his condition. "Your father's right," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean your apology isn't important. Sometimes, it's the smallest gestures that mean the most." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "I know," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But I want you to know that I'm here for you. That I love you, Dad." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye blinking as he took in Chip's words. He didn't speak, but the tension in the room began to ease, the sharp edges of anger dulled by the quiet declaration. Karen's hand on his shoulder was a warm reminder that he wasn't alone in this battle. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip continued, his voice still shaky. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that." He took a deep breath, his eyes searching his father's for a sign of forgiveness. Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze unreadable. Karen watched the silent exchange, her heart heavy with the weight of their unspoken words. "I know, Chip," Plankton finally managed, his voice a rasp. "But you have to learn. You can't just... touch me like that." Chip nodded, his eyes filling with tears. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, his words the only rope that could bridge the gap between them. "I'll try," he whispered, the promise heavy in the air. "I'll be more careful." Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and sorrow. "That's all we can ask, honey." Plankton took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "I'm tired," he murmured. Karen and Chip both backed away. Plankton's antennae drooped as he lay on the bed, his body exhausted from the seizure and the emotional turmoil that had followed. "Chip," he said, his voice weak. "Could you... just stay with me?" Chip's eyes widened in surprise. He'd never seen his father ask for something so simple, so vulnerable. "Of course, Dad," he murmured, his voice filled with a newfound gentleness. He carefully perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. The room was a cocoon of silence, the only sound the soft whir of the fan above. Chip sat with his hands clasped in his lap, his mind racing with thoughts and fears. He wanted to reach out, to hold Plankton's hand, but he knew better now. He'd learned the hard way about boundaries. Plankton lay still, his antennae twitching slightly with each breath. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, lost in the swirling pattern of shadows cast by the blades. "You know," he began, his voice a soft rumble, "when I was younger, I had this teacher, in school. He didn't 'understand' me." Chip leaned in, his curiosity piqued. He'd never heard his father talk about his school days before. "He'd always scold me," Plankton continued, his voice a distant echo. "Said I was daydreaming, not paying attention. But it was more than that." Chip leaned closer, his heart aching for the young Plankton who had suffered in silence. Plankton's antennae twitched as he recalled the past. "Whenever I'd get too... overwhelmed, I'd zone out," he said, his voice a distant memory. "It was like my mind was a kaleidoscope, swirling with colors and sounds. And just like that, I'd be somewhere else, my body frozen, like you saw. But I vividly remember one day, when the colors were especially bright and the sounds were especially loud, I had one of those episodes right in the middle of class." Chip's eyes were wide with compassion as he listened, his heart breaking for the little Plankton who nobody had understood. "What happened?" Plankton's gaze remained on the ceiling, his antennae still. "The teacher," he said, his voice tight with remembered pain, "he said that people like me, were a distraction, that I'd never amount to anything." Chip felt a spark of anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "But you're a genius!" he protested. "You've created so much!" Plankton's antennae wiggled in a sad smile. "Not to him, I wasn't. He pointed me out personally and said I'm unteachable. And when he said that, I had one of my absence seizures, like you saw. And when I came out of it, he just... he just called me a fitful monstrosity.." The words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and unspoken. Chip felt his heart clench, his fists tighten. "But you're not, Dad," he said fiercely. "You're brilliant, and... and..." He searched for the right words, but they remained elusive. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, a sad smile playing on his lips. "There have been others," he said, his voice a whisper of hope. "Good people. Like my favorite teacher, who figured it out. She never called me names, never tried to fix me." His eyes took on a distant look, the memory illuminating his face. "Mrs. Puffett, she'd make sure the class was quiet when she saw the signs. She'd move my desk to the corner, so the colors and sounds wouldn't bother me as much. And when I'd start to have one of my episodes, she'd simply block everyone's view by putting up a little cardboard box in front of me. Just a simple thing, but it meant the world to me." Chip felt a lump in his throat. "That's so beautiful," he murmured, his heart swelling with love for his father. "But it wasn't just her," Plankton continued, his antennae twitching with the weight of his words. "It was me, too. I had to accept it, to learn that I was different. And that's what I want you to do, Chip." Chip nodded solemnly.

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JUST A TOUCH x (Autistic author) SpongeBob rushes over, his face a mask of worry. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. But Plankton can't answer. His body is rigid, his eye unfocused. Squidward's tentacle retreats, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob's eyes are wide with concern. "Hello?" Plankton doesn't even blink, his eye remains unseeing, his body a statue to the chaos around him. Squidward, still holding the dish, watches with a mix of fear and confusion. "What's happening to him?" Sponge Bob's heart races as he sees his friend frozen. "Hey, Plankton," he says. "It's just a party." But the words fall on deaf ears—or rather, one deaf eye. Plankton's antennae remain still, his body rigid. The room's chaos has ceased to exist for him, lost in the vacuum of his seizure. Sponge Bob's voice, usually so boisterous, is now a gentle whisper. "Plankton?" he says, his hand hovering over his friend. Squidward, his eyes wide, stammers. "Is he...? Is he okay, or?" It's something that has to run its course, which of course neither Squidward nor Sponge Bob realize. Squidward's tentacle shakes Plankton gently, his voice filled with concern. "Plankton?" he repeats, his tone softer now. Plankton's antennae remain still, his body a statue in the bustling kitchen. The dish clatter fades to background noise, the laughter from the party a distant echo. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes, his eyes never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. He's seen his friend in tough spots before, but this... this is something new, something scary. He takes a deep breath, his thumbs tucked into his pockets as he tries to think. What do you do? What helps when someone you care about is stuck in this kind of loop or what ever this is... Squidward, usually so quick to snap and complain, is silent, his tentacles poised but not moving. He watches, his eyes flicking between the unmoving Plankton and SpongeBob. The room's cacophony fades away as the realization hits them—Plankton's in trouble. Sponge Bob's smile is gone, replaced with a furrowed brow and a quivering bottom lip. Squidward, still holding the now forgotten plate, feels a pang of guilt. He'd seen the stress in Plankton's antennae, heard the urgency in his voice, but had dismissed it. Now he's not sure what to do. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy body tense with worry. He's seen Plankton upset before, but never like this. "I think we should set him down," he suggests, his voice barely a whisper. "On the floor.." They gently lower Plankton to the cool tiles, his body unyielding. Squidward sets the dish aside, his tentacles shaking slightly. "What do we do?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob's eyes never leave Plankton's face, his heart pounding in his chest. He's seen his friend in tough spots before, but this... this is something else entirely. Squidward, his tentacles still shaking, stammers. "What do we do?" The fear in his voice is palpable. They both know Plankton isn't okay. Sponge Bob takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Plankton's motionless form. "Get Karen. Now." Squidward nods, his tentacles moving in a blur as he rushes to find her. The party's music thumps in the background, a stark contrast to the silence of the kitchen where Plankton sits. Sponge Bob kneels beside him, his hand hovering over Plankton's shoulder, unsure of what to do next. His heart races as he watches his friend's chest rise and fall in the rhythm of a silent symphony only Plankton can hear. Karen looks up at the sound of Squidward running in. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice filled with alarm. Squidward's tentacles flap wildly. "It's Plankton! He's... he's just... not moving!" Karen's eyes widen, and she rushes into the restaurant, Squidward's words echoing in her mind. Plankton sits on the floor, his body unnaturally still, his antennae drooping. Her heart skips a beat as she sees his vacant gaze. She recognizes the signs—this is the second time she's seen an absence seizure take hold of him. She kneels beside Sponge Bob, whose expression is a mix of fear and confusion. "He's having a seizure," Karen whispers, her voice a calming breeze in the chaotic kitchen. Her hand, now gentle and firm, guides Plankton's head to the floor. "He'll wake up. We've got to keep him safe." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes wide with concern. He's seen his friend in tough spots before, but this... this is something beyond his usual quirks. Plankton's tiny body is a stark contrast to the monstrous fear gripping his heart. The kitchen is a blur of movement around them, but Karen's calm presence brings a semblance of order. She takes over, her movements precise. "Don't touch him," she says, her voice a gentle command. "Just let it run its course." Squidward nods, his tentacles still, his eyes on Plankton. Sponge Bob's face is a mask of worry, his eyes never leaving his friend's unresponsive form. Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrow, his voice a gruff whisper. "What's going on?" Karen's voice is calm, but her heart races. "It's okay," she says, her hand resting on Plankton's back. "It's just a part of his new... condition." Mr. Krabs' expression softens, his eyes flicking from Plankton to Karen. "Is he going to be okay?" "Yes," Karen says firmly, her hand still on Plankton's back. "It's just a seizure. They can happen with... his autism..." Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, but his expression quickly morphs into something more thoughtful. "I see," he says, his voice lowered. "I had no idea." "He got a brain injury, Mr. Krabs," Karen says. "Yesterday, in an accident.." Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze on Plankton's unmoving form. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice genuine. "What happened?" Karen swallows, her eyes welling with tears. "They said it's Acquired Autism. It's like his brain got... rewired." Her hand strokes Plankton's back soothingly. "He's the same, but different." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his claws clenching. "Well, we'll make do," he says gruffly. "This is still the same Plankton who tried to steal the Krabby Patty formula, right?" Karen's eyes flash with a mix of anger and protectiveness. "Yes," she says firmly. "But now he needs our help. And our understanding. He hasn't mentioned it once since.." Her voice trails off as Plankton's eye flickers. Slowly, his antennae unfreeze, twitching slightly. The world starts to come back into focus, the colors and sounds gradually seeping back into his consciousness. Sponge Bob's hand is still hovering over him, his face a canvas of relief and uncertainty. "Plankton?" Sponge Bob whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton's eye blinks once, twice, and he looks around, his gaze landing on Squidward. Squidward's tentacles are still, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. Plankton slowly sits up, his antennae twitching as he takes in the scene. The dish is forgotten, the need for order lost in the fog of his seizure. "Welcome back," Sponge Bob says, his voice a mix of relief and anxiety. Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he looks around, his gaze settling on the plate still in Squidward's tentacle. "It's okay," Karen says gently, her hand resting on his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch as his brain reboots, trying to process the scene before him. "Dishes," he murmurs, his voice still flat. Squidward watches him, his tentacle hovering over the sink. "Let me handle this," he says, his voice apologetic. "You... you just take it easy." Plankton nods, his antennae still. The chaos of the kitchen fades away as he focuses on his friend's kindness. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice a soft echo of its former self. "All of you.."

⠾⡿⠻⠟⠿⠻⠟⠿⠻⠟⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠟⠻⠟⠻⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠛⠛⠛⠓⠛⠛⠛⢛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠛⢺⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣥⣀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⢤⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣧⣶⣴⣦⣦⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣇⡶⠶⠶⠾⢯⡿⠶⠶⠶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣴⣤⣄ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠤⠌⢻ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣦⢤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣆⣀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⡇⠀⠁⠀⠉⠉⠁⢛⣿⠋⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠛⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠶⠳⠞⠶⠳⠞⠶⠳⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠐⡂⢆⠰⣀⠢⡐⢄⠢⡐⢄⠢⡐⢠⠀⡄⣶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠯⠿⠽⠿⠽⠯⠿⠿⠿⠽⠿⠯⠿⠯⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡘⠐⢂⠒⣀⠒⠰⢈⠰⠐⢂⢂⠑⠂⠥⠐⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣆⡈⣉⢉⡈⣀⢁⣈⢀⡁⣉⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⣬⣥⣦⣬⣤⣬⣤⣥⣦⣭⣤⣦⣬⣥⣦⣥⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢈⠀⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠡⢈⠠⠁⡈⠄⠁⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⣤⡾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣀⣈⣀⣁⢂⡠⢁⣂⡐⣀⢂⡐⣀⣈⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢄⣧⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠠⢀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⢀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⣿⣄⣤⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠐⡀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠂⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠁⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠙⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⣈⣀⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣠⣀⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⢻⣽⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠗⠀⠀⠀ ⡄⣇⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠑⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⠿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iv (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ But Plankton's frustration had reached a boiling point. His voice was a thunderclap in the small room, his eye flashing with a rage he couldn't contain. "You don't know!" he roared, his body shaking. Hanna took another step back, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, Plankton, I truly didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice shaking. Plankton's gaze shifted to the door, his mind racing to the safety of his solitude. "You don't know," he murmured, his anger subsiding slightly. The sudden silence was like a balm to his raw nerves. But Hanna's curiosity angered him further. "Plankton, what..." "I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton's voice pierced the silence, his frustration at an all-time high. Hanna's eyes grew wider. "I'll leave you alone," she said quickly, her voice quiet and soothing. But as she turned to go, she accidentally brushed against his arm. Plankton's reaction was instant and explosive. He jerked away, his body tensing, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, his voice sharp and jagged. Hanna's eyes wide with shock. "Plankton tell me what's..." But Plankton had reached his limit. The touch, the questions, the expectation of normalcy—it was all too much. He felt personally attacked, now on a roll. "You don't know what's what?" he spat out, his voice a whip crack. "You come in here, invading my space, without a care in the world for what I'm going through!" Hanna took another step back, retracting quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she whispered, her eyes filling with sorrow. "Karen never mentioned..." But Plankton's frustration had become anger, his next words cutting like a knife. "You don't know anything," he snarled, his voice laced with bitterness. "You come in here, asking your stupid questions, expecting me to be the same person I was before!" "Before what, Plankton?" Yet Plankton's not wanting to answer Hanna so he yells his next words at the top of his lungs. "Before I...I... YOU KNOW WHAT? IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Plankton's voice cracked with the effort of his outburst, but he's just getting started, now he's on a roll, his next words being worse. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here," Plankton spat out, his frustration a palpable force in the room. Hanna took another step back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was just trying to..." But Plankton's anger had taken over. "You're not helping!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "You don't get to decide what I need!" He was on his feet now, his body rigid with frustration. "I don't want you to know!" "Know what, Plankton? You don't get to decide what I can and can't know," she said, her voice firm. But Karen's now returned with the smoothie, both Hanna and Plankton too wrapped up to notice her presence. "You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything?" his voice was a growl now. "You think you know what it's like to be trapped in here?" He tapped his head with his finger, his eye wild. "You don't know anything!" Now Hanna's getting real angry. "You think you're the only one suffering?" Hanna countered, her voice rising. "What about Karen? What about the people who actually care about you?" Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his anger fueled by her words. "You don't know what it's like!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty space of the Chum Bucket. "You don't know what it's like to have the world make no sense! To be trapped in your own head!" Hanna's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I really am. But you can't just push everyone away." "Why not?" Plankton demanded, his voice a whip crack. "Why do I have to explain?" But Hanna's concern for Karen overrode her own fear. "Karen's my friend and she deserves better than you and your little tantrums," Hanna snapped back. "Tantrums? TANTRUMS?" Plankton's voice was a roar now. "This isn't a tantrum, it's reality!" Hanna's in a defensive posture, her eyes flashing with anger. "You think I don't know what real pain is?" she shouted back. "You're so caught up in your own world that you can't see what you're doing to her, just because you're too stubborn and acting like a child who can't deal with the real world! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A BURDENSOME WASTE OF SPACE! So, if you can't get your act together, maybe you should just go to an institution where people can handle your..." "That's enough!" Karen snapped. Her voice was a whip crack across the tension filled room, startling both Plankton and Hanna. She couldn't stand silent any longer. Yet Plankton's face crumpled at Hanna's threat, his anger giving way to despair. Tears began to stream down his face, his body shaking with sobs he couldn't control. The sudden shift from rage to sorrow was like a punch to Hanna. **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ii (Autistic author) The drive back to the Chum Bucket was quiet, the only sound the hum of the car engine and the occasional splash of a jellyfish passing by. Karen gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white with tension. She glanced over at Plankton in the passenger seat, his eye glazed over and staring out the window. "You ok?" she asked tentatively. Plankton nodded, his gaze still fixed outside the car window. "Everything looks the same, but feeling... different." "You're going to be ok," she said. "We'll get through this." By the time Karen pulls up in the driveway, Plankton had fallen asleep, his head lolling against the car window. She gently lifts him out of the car and carries him into their bedroom, laying him down with care. As she watches him sleep, she whispers, "We'll get through this." The next day dawns with the promise of a new challenge. Karen wakes up to the sight of Plankton, obsessing with the pattern of the floor tiles. "You ok?" Karen asked, voice soft. Plankton looked up, his gaze slightly unfocused. "The floor," he said, his voice still quiet. "What, the floor?" Karen asked. "The floor," Plankton repeated. "What about it?" Karen asked. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the tiles. "Plankton not same, Plankton different," he murmured. Karen sat down beside him. "How are you feeling?" "Plankton feel... weird," he said, antennae drooping slightly. "Things to loud. Things to bright." He paused, looking at her with a flicker of his old mischief. "But Plankton still love Krabby Patty." Karen couldn't help but chuckle through tears. "I know you do, sweetie," she said, her voice warm with love. "But maybe it's time we focus on something else for a while." Plankton nodded slowly, gaze still on the floor. "Plankton... try," he murmured, fidgeting nervously. "Do you want for breakfast, Plankton?" Plankton's eye didn't leave the floor. Karen tries asking again. "Does Plankton wanna eat?" Plankton nods, his gaze finally shifting from the floor to meet hers. "Hungry," he said, his voice monotone and detached. Karen sighs and heads to the kitchen. She could feel the weight of the new reality settling on her shoulders, but she was determined to make things work. As she flipped through the recipe book, Plankton's voice, distant yet clear, floated through the air. "Plankton... Plankton different," he said to himself, gaze still locked onto the floor. Karen knew he was trying to process his new sense of self. "Plankton still smart," he murmured, as if reassuring himself. "But Plankton... not same." He paused, tiny body trembling slightly. "Plankton think to loud. Plankton hear to much." The world had become a symphony of overwhelming stimuli, each sound and light a crescendo that pounded against his newfound sensitivity. Karen looked up from her cooking with empathy. "It's ok Plankton," she said gently. "We'll learn to adapt. Maybe we can make some changes around here to help you feel more comfortable." Plankton nodded, but doubt remained. "Plankton... not know," he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. "What if Plankton mess up?" Karen set the frying pan aside and knelt down beside him, taking his hands in hers. "You won't," she said firmly. "We'll face this together. I'll always be here to help you, no matter what." Plankton nodded, his gaze finally shifting from the floor to meet hers. "Thank Karen," he said, voice a little clearer. "The chumbalaya is ready." She says, serving him his favorite chum dish. Plankton looks up from the floor, his gaze lingering on the plate before him. "Plankton eat now?" he asks, his voice still distant. "Yes, sweetie," Karen says with a smile, pushing the plate closer to him. "Eat your breakfast." "Eat breakfast," Plankton parrots back, his tone flat. He picks up a spoon and stares at it, his hand shaking slightly. The simple task of bringing it to his mouth seems daunting under the weight of his new reality. Karen's smile falters a little but she keeps the conversation going. "It's a beautiful day out side, Plankton. Would you like to go for a walk?" "Walk outside," Plankton repeats echoing the monotone rhythm of hers. He stands up, his movements stiff and deliberate as if he's not quite sure of his body's new limitations. "Oh I meant after finishing breakfast," Karen says. "Walk after breakfast," Plankton echoes. Karen nods encouragingly. "Yes, after you eat." She watches as he carefully brings the spoon to his mouth, his movements tentative and slow. Each bite is a victory, a declaration of normalcy in a world that had suddenly become any thing but. "Good boy," she says, voice filled with pride. Plankton looks up, his eye searching hers. "Good boy," he repeats, his voice a mirror of hers, but the words don't quite fit. Karen noticed how he just repeated the phrase she's said. It's called echolalia, a trait often seen in those with autism, and it's something they're going to have to navigate together. She decides to keep her words positive and encouraging, hoping it'll help him feel more at ease. "Yes, let's go for a walk," she confirms. They step outside into the vibrant world of Bikini Bottom, and they start their slow stroll down the boardwalk. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the coral reefs and the colorful fish swimming by. The smell of the ocean was a soothing balm to Karen's frayed nerves, and she hoped it would have the same effect on Plankton. He walked beside her, his steps halting and unsure, his antennae twitching at every new sound. As they approached the boardwalk, they saw a familiar figure in the distance. "Look, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation, "it's SpongeBob." Plankton's antennae shot up, and his eye widened. "Sponge... Bob," he murmured, recognizing him. Karen took a deep breath and tightened her grip on Plankton's hand. She knew SpongeBob had a heart of gold, but she also knew he could be potentially overwhelming. As they approached, Sponge Bob spotted them and waved enthusiastically. "Hi, Karen! Hi, Plankton!" His voice was a welcome sound in the quiet morning and Karen braced herself for whatever would come next. "Hi, Sponge Bob," she says. Sponge Bob's face lit up. "Oh boy, Plankton! What's shakin'?" Plankton stiffened, antennae quivering as he tried to process the sudden influx of sensory input. "Sponge Bob," he said slowly, his voice measured and careful. "Plankton... walk." Sponge Bob looked from Karen to Plankton, his expression growing concerned. "Is everything ok, Plankton?" he asked, eyes full of genuine care. "You seem a bit... off your game to day." Plankton stared at him, composing response. "Walk," Plankton repeated. "Plankton walk." Sponge Bob looked confused but nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "Ok Plankton," he said gently. "Would you like to walk with me?" Plankton's antennae twitched and he nodded. "Walk with Sponge Bob," he agreed, his voice still monotone. Sponge Bob took Plankton's other hand, and together, the three of them began their leisurely stroll along the boardwalk.

JUST A TOUCH v (Autistic author) Hanna's confusion is clear as she watches Karen crouch before Plankton, her hand hovering an inch from his shoulder. "Plankton, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a gentle coax. "It's just me." No indication from Plankton though. Hanna's eyes dart from Karen to Plankton and back, trying to piece together what has happened. "What's wrong with him?" she whispers. "He's just overwhelmed," Karen says, her voice tight with frustration. Hanna looks from Karen to Plankton, his body rigid. "What happened?" she asks again, her voice laced with concern. Karen sighs heavily, her eyes full of pain. "Plankton has Acquired Autism." The words hang in the air like a heavy cloud, casting a shadow over the room. Hanna's face falls, her hand covering her mouth in shock. "Oh no," she murmurs, realizing her mistake. "I didn't know." Her eyes dart to Plankton, his body still frozen, his gaze vacant. "I'm so sorry." She says, reaching for him again as Karen's. Karen's hand shoots out, stopping her mid-air. "No, don't," she says firmly. "He's hypersensitive now. Sometimes touch can be... painful." Hanna's hand retreats, her eyes widening. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "I just wanted to be friendly." Karen's expression softens slightly. "It's okay," she says, her voice calming. "You couldn't have known." But Plankton remains still, his eye unblinking. "Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand reaching for his. He doesn't flinch this time, his body still as stone. She squeezes gently, hoping the familiar gesture will bring him back. "You're safe at home." Hanna watches, her heart heavy with guilt. She had no idea her enthusiasm could have such a profound effect on him. "What can I do?" she asks, her voice shaky. Karen looks up, her eyes tired. "Just give us some space," she says. "Let me... let me help him." Hanna nods, her own screen brimming with unshed tears. "Of course," she murmurs, backing away. Plankton remains frozen, his gaze locked on the floor. Karen wraps her arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice soothing. "You're safe here." She rubs his arm lightly, the way she's learned not to cause him discomfort. He doesn't move, but she can feel the tension slowly leaving his body. His antennae lift slightly. "You're okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle murmur. "Just breathe." Slowly, Plankton's body begins to relax, his antennae twitching as he takes in her words. Hanna watches from a distance. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice quieter. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to..." Her words trail off, but Karen simply nods, her eyes not leaving Plankton's. "It's okay," she repeats. "We're still learning." Hanna sits on the edge of the sofa, her eyes never leaving them. She feels like an intruder, a bull in a china shop. She had come to offer support, but instead, she'd triggered something deep within him. The room feels heavy with unspoken words. "I didn't mean to push him," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "I just didn't know." Karen's grip on Plankton tightens slightly, but she doesn't look up. "It's okay," she says again, her voice a lifeline in the quiet. "It's a lot to take in." Hanna nods, her screen filling with tears she quickly wipes away. "But I'll learn," she says, her determination clear. "I want to be a good friend to both of you." Plankton's antennae quiver, a faint glimmer of recognition flickering in his eye. Karen nods. "Thank you," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. Hanna watches as Karen's gentle touch seems to break through the barriers Plankton has erected. His body slowly unfurls from his rigid stance, his gaze shifting from the floor to meet Karen's. "It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice a balm. "Let's go to our room. You need to rest." Plankton nods slightly, allowing her to guide him away from the living room. Hanna watches them go, her heart aching for her friend. She knows she's overstayed her welcome, but she can't bear to leave without apologizing to Plankton. "I'll go," she says, her voice thick. Karen turns, her screen swimming with unshed tears. "Thank you, Hanna," she says, her voice hoarse. Hanna nods, her own eyes shimmering. "Call me if you need anything," she says, her voice thick with emotion. She stands, her legs feeling like jelly, and makes her way to the door, her heart heavy with the weight of what she's done. The moment the door clicks shut, Karen feels the tension in the room dissipate slightly. Plankton's body relaxes a fraction, his eye no longer staring blankly at the floor. She leads him to their bedroom, the familiar surroundings seeming to soothe his frazzled nerves. Once inside, she helps him into bed, the softness of the covers a stark contrast to the rigidness of his body. She pulls the curtains shut, dimming the lights to reduce the sensory stimulation. Plankton's antennae twitch, a sign of his relief. Karen sits beside him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know she'd..." Plankton's gaze meets hers, his eye less intense now. "It's okay," he says, his voice monotone. "Just need... quiet." Karen nods, her hand still resting on his shoulder. "I'm here," she says. "I'm always here."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix (Autistic Author) As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, making something as simple as expressing love a monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the determination to help their family navigate through this. The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent promise that today will be better. Plankton emerges from the bedroom, his antennae drooping slightly, evidence of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, and she offers him a soft smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. He shrugs, his antennae twitching nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready to talk to Chip." Karen nods with a mix of concern and admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, heading to Chip's room. When they all gather at the breakfast table, the tension in the air is palpable. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely moving, as if afraid to break the delicate silence. Chip looks between them, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep breath. "Remember what we talked about last night? About Daddy's meltdowns?" Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, who's pushing his pancake around with a syrupy look of dread. "Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is almost too much to bear, but he steels himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the previous night's outburst. "I made you this," Chip says, pushing a plate of perfectly formed pancakes towards his father. "To make you feel better." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the gesture, his eye focusing on the food with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart pounding in anticipation of a reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, hope blooming in his voice. Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "They look delicious," he says, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The room holds its breath, waiting. "They're great," he finally says, and Chip's face lights up. The tension in the room eases ever so slightly, the sweetness of the maple syrup mingling with the salty scent of fear that still lingers. Karen watches the exchange, her heart swelling with pride for both of them. Plankton's effort to engage, despite his exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, seems to understand the unspoken rules of their new reality. They're all learning together, stumbling in the dark but finding their way through the maze of neurodivergence. "Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his voice filled with courage. "I know you have meltdowns sometimes. But I still love you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his chewing slowing. He looks at his son, his single eye filled with a mix of emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. "I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I too." The room remains quiet, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, I need to tell you something." Chip looks up, his eyes wide and expectant. "What is it, Daddy?" Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "I have something," he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my brain works differently than yours and Mommy's." Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks down at his plate, his voice quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. "It means that sometimes, I get really, really upset, and my body reacts in ways that might scare you." Chip's expression is a blend of confusion and curiosity. "But why do you get upset, Daddy?" he asks. Plankton's antennae wiggle as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes, things that don't bother you or Mommy can feel really, really big to me," he explains. "It's like when you're scared of a thunderstorm, and the thunder feels like it's right next to you." Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he points out. "It's different, bud," Plankton says, his antennae stilling for a moment. "It's like... sometimes my brain gets a storm inside, and I don't know how to make it stop." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a way that Karen knows means he's trying to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice a little stronger. "But I might have more storms. And when I do, I might need some space." Chip looks at him seriously, his young mind working to understand. "Ok," he says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy for you, Daddy." Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of love and relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "That means the world to me." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a new understanding. "And you know," she adds, her voice gentle, "Whenever you have questions or if you're scared, you can come to me and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best as we can." Chip nods, his gaze still focused on Plankton. "But what if I don't know when I’m irritating you?" Plankton's antennae droop, and he sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. "Sometimes I don't know either. But we can learn together, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. "Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky. Karen pours them both a glass of juice, hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't we talk about what you can do to help?" she suggests, handing a glass to Chip. Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is a little space, like when I'm in the middle of a big idea." Chip nods, remembering the times when Plankton would get so focused on his latest contraption that the slightest disturbance would send him into a tizzy. "I can do that," he says, his voice filled with determination. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And when you do freeze, Dad," Chip continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell if you need a hug or if you just need me to sit with you?" Karen's eyes fill with pride as she watches her son's bravery. Plankton looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a way that she knows means he's trying to find the right words. "If I freeze," he says slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait until I come back. I might not be able to hug you right then, but I'll know you're there." Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass tightening slightly. "What about meltdowns?" he asks, his voice quivering. Plankton's antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," he admits. "But if you can give me space and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm down faster." Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, what types of touch do you like and what types of affection do you dislike?” Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She gives him a gentle nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, "I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or pats on the back, especially when I'm working or thinking hard. But a hand on my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is always nice." Chip nods, processing the information. "So, like when you're stressed, I should just tell you I love you?" Plankton's antennae wobble with the weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's right. Just remember, buddy, everyone shows love differently." Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she watches the conversation unfold. It's not perfect, but it's a start. A start to understanding and acceptance. "And if you need more than that, Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton looks at him, his antennae moving in a way that Karen can't quite read. "If I need more than that," he says, "I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you understand." Chip nods, taking another sip of his juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. "But what if I don't know what to say?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting with me is enough."

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii (Autistic author) The room is bathed in a soft moonlight, the shadows playing across Plankton's sleeping features. His body, once taut with tension, has relaxed into the embrace of the bed, his arm curled around a pillow. His antennas now rest gently on the pillowcase, no longer quivering with agitation. Karen watches him sleep, her thoughts a jumble of worry and love. She knows he's tired, that the weight of the world can be too much for him to bear at times. But she also knows that he's strong, that he'll face tomorrow with determination. The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of pink and orange. Karen gently squeezes his shoulder before standing, her eyes never leaving his peaceful face. She knows that today will be a day of apologies and understanding, of teaching Chip about his dad's autism and how to navigate the world around him. With a soft sigh, she heads to Chip's room, her footsteps silent on the cool floor. She opens the door to find him sitting up in bed, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He looks at her. "Is Dad okay?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep and the remnants of his earlier distress. Karen nods, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "We'll talk to him when he wakes up." The words hang in the air, a gentle reminder of the conversation that needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes still puffy from crying. He clutches his pillow, the fabric damp from his tears. "But what do I do?" he asks, his voice small and scared. "How do I make sure I don't make him upset again?" Karen sits on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking his. "You just keep being you, Chip," she says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves you, and we'll learn together how to make sure he doesn't get overwhelmed." Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But what about my trophy?" he asks, his voice still shaky. Karen's hand stops, her gaze dropping to the shard of plastic he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll fix it," she says, her voice filled with conviction. "Together." The promise brings a small smile to Chip's face, his eyes lighting up. "Really?" Karen nods, her own smile genuine. "Of course, honey," she says. "We're a family. We stick together." With that, she stands up, her body weary but her spirit resolute. The room feels lighter somehow, the air less charged with tension. Chip clambers out of bed, his small hand reaching for hers. Together, they walk to the bedroom, the shattered remnants of the trophy glinting in the early light. Plankton is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Chip looks at him, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and curiosity. "We'll talk to him when he wakes up," Karen says, her voice soft. They sit beside Plankton's bed, the room still and quiet. Chip's hand trembles slightly as he holds the broken piece of trophy. "But what if he's still mad?" he whispers, his voice barely above the silence. Karen's hand squeezes his. "He'll understand," she says, her voice filled with a calm certainty. "He loves you, and he knows you didn't mean to hurt him." The words are a gentle balm to Chip's fears, but the doubt lingers. He nods, his gaze never leaving his father. "Remember, Chip," Karen says, her voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's brain is different." Chip nods, his eyes fixed on his dad's sleeping form. He's seen Plankton stressed before, but never like this. He wants to show him love. With tentative steps, he moves closer to the bed, his heart beating a staccato in his chest. He reaches out, his hand shaking slightly as he hovers it over his dad's arm. "Chip," Karen whispers, her hand covering his. "Remember, gentle." Her words are a gentle reminder of the invisible lines that can be crossed. Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's peaceful face. He takes a deep breath, his hand steadying. Slowly, so slowly it's almost imperceptible, he brings his palm to rest on Plankton's forearm, his touch as light as a feather. Plankton's body tenses for a moment, a reflexive reaction to the sudden contact. Chip holds his breath, waiting, hoping. Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels his dad's arm relax under his hand. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay." Chip's hand remains hovering, his heart in his throat. Plankton's body remains still, his breathing even. Karen's touch is a guide, her hand resting on Chip's. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soft encouragement. "You can do it." With a deep breath, Chip's hand descends, his fingertips brushing against Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennas twitch. Karen watches, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Chip's hand hovers, his heart racing. He wants to reassure his dad, to let him know he's there. He's learned about space and understanding, but all he can think of is the warmth of his touch, the comfort he craves to give. His fingertips graze Plankton's arm, the contact so light it's barely there. He watches, waiting for a reaction, for a sign that he's crossed the line. But Plankton remains still, his breathing unchanged. Encouraged, Chip presses down slightly, his hand a soft weight on his father's arm. He feels the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath. It's a tentative connection, fragile as spider silk. Plankton's antennas quiver, but his body remains still. Chip's heart hammers in his chest, his breaths shallow and quick. He's afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. Karen watches, her eyes filled with a quiet hope. The air in the room is thick with anticipation. Chip's hand hovers over Plankton's arm, trembling slightly with nerves and love. He's unsure if this small gesture will be met with anger or acceptance. Karen's gaze is a silent cheer, urging him on. Plankton's breaths remain steady, his body still. Chip's heart is a drum in his chest, each beat a silent plea for understanding. With a tremble, he lets his hand settle, his fingertips barely grazing the fabric of the blanket. He feels the heat of Plankton's skin, the rise and fall of his chest. It's a gentle touch, the lightest of caresses. Karen's hand remains on his, guiding him, encouraging him. Plankton's breaths remain steady, his body still. Chip's eyes are wide with hope, his hand poised above the blanket. With a tremble, he lets his fingers come to rest on the cotton, feeling the warmth of his father's arm beneath. He holds his breath, waiting for a reaction, for any sign that he's done the right thing. Plankton's body remains still, his breathing unchanged. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, watching for any hint of distress. But there's none. Only the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a testament to his deep sleep. Chip's hand is a butterfly landing on Plankton's arm, his fingers fluttering slightly against the warmth of his skin. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But his love for his dad is stronger than his fear. Karen watches the silent exchange, her heart in her throat. The moment feels sacred, a testament to their growing understanding of each other. Chip's hand remains on Plankton's arm, the warmth of his touch a promise of comfort and love. He's afraid to move, afraid to disrupt the delicate balance. Karen's hand is a soft presence, guiding him, giving him the courage to stay. Plankton's breaths are slow and even, his body relaxed. Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's in a world where the sensory overload doesn't exist. His heart swells with hope, with the desire to protect his dad from the world's harshness. Karen's hand on his is a gentle reminder that he's not alone. She gives him a small, encouraging nod, her eyes filled with understanding. He takes a deep breath, his hand moving slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's. The moment their skin touches, it's like a dam breaks. Chip feels a rush of warmth, a connection that's been missing. He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly, his heart pounding. He's afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, watching for any sign of distress. But his features remain relaxed, his antennas still. The room is a sanctuary of quiet, the only sound their melded breaths. Chip feels a lump form in his throat, his eyes welling with tears. He whispers, "Thank you," to his mom, his voice shaky with emotion. She nods, her hand still covering his. "Remember," she says, her voice a soft caress. "Gentle." With trembling fingers, Chip tucks the blanket closer around Plankton, the fabric smoothing over his shoulders. It's a tiny act of love, a silent apology. He wants to crawl into the bed beside him, to wrap his arms around his dad.. He looks up at Karen, his eyes pleading. "Can I?" Karen nods, her smile sad but understanding. "Just be careful not to wake him," she whispers. With the grace of a cat burglar, Chip slides into the bed, his movements slow and calculated. He's careful not to disturb the sheets, not to make a sound that could break the tranquil silence. Plankton's arm is a warm mound beside him, and he reaches out tentatively, his fingers seeking the comfort of his dad's skin. He finds it, his hand coming to rest lightly on the crook of his elbow. The connection feels right, like finding a piece of himself he didn't know was lost. He snuggles closer, his head resting on the pillow beside Plankton's. Karen watches, her heart swelling with love for her son. "It's ok," she whispers. "Just be gentle."

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a few moments, Chip's screen glued to his dad's still form. The only sound is the steady rhythm of Plankton's shallow breathing. As the minutes tick by, Chip's thoughts swirl with confusion and guilt. He had no idea that his dad's quirks and sensitivities were part of something so complex. He'd just thought Plankton was easily annoyed or tired. Karen notices his son's distress and decides it's time to explain more. "You know how sometimes you get really excited about something, and you just can't keep it in?" she asks. Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I see a new toy or when I've got a great idea for a sandcastle." "Well, for Dad, it's like that all the time," Karen continues. "Every little thing can be a big deal, and sometimes it's just too much." She pauses, looking at Plankton with a mix of love and concern. "But he's also the smartest person I know, and he loves you so much. That's what's important." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears as he watches his mom care for his dad. He'd always felt a bit left out, not understanding why Plankton would sometimes retreat from the world. But now he gets it. It's not that his dad didn't want to share in his excitement, it's just that sometimes, the world was too much for him. "Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his throat tight with emotion. "I didn't mean to make him... like this." Karen pulls him into a warm embrace. "You didn't do anything wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault. Dad's brain just works differently. And now that we know, we can help each other understand." Chip sniffles against her, his thoughts racing. "Does he know what's happening or can he understand us?" "Sometimes he can," Karen says, her voice low and soothing. "But right now, I don't think he realizes anything's happening around him." "What if he doesn't wake up?" The fear in his voice is palpable. "He will, honey," Karen says, her tone reassuring. "It just takes a little time. It's like when you're really tired and you need a nap. His brain needs to rest." The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of the air conditioner kicking in, a stark contrast to the excitement that had filled it just moments ago. Chip watches his dad, feeling a wave of emotion wash over him. He wants to laugh and share more stories, but he knows now that his dad's brain needs a break. As they wait, Karen starts to clean up the mess Chip made. The sand and papers scattered across the floor seem so trivial now, a stark reminder of the chaos his enthusiasm can create for his dad. He helps her, carefully picking up each piece, placing them back into their rightful spots. His mind is racing with thoughts of how to be a better son, how to make sure his dad doesn't feel like this again. They work in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional clank of a metal item being set back on the desk. The room slowly transforms back to its usual state of order, a stark contrast to the turmoil Plankton was experiencing. Chip's eyes never leave his dad, hoping to see any sign of improvement. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension in the room shifts. His breathing becomes deeper and more regular. Karen's shoulders relax as she sees the first signs of Plankton coming back to himself. She gives Chip's hand a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's starting to come out of it." Chip stares, hope filling his chest. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. He blinks a few more times, as if trying to bring the room into focus. "What... what happened?" His voice is weak, almost a whisper. Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand. "You just needed a little break, sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

JUST A TOUCH ix (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration. "It's about the order," he repeats, his voice strained. "Everything needs order." Squidward sighs, his tentacles flapping in exasperation. "Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but we need to get these dishes done, and we can't do that if you're going to micromanage every single one!" Plankton's antennae droop. "Needs thorough..." Squidward throws his tentacles up in the air. "I don't care about your 'thoroughness' right now!" he exclaims. "Just let me do my job!" Plankton's antennae flatten. "No!" he shouts, his voice echoing off the stainless steel walls. Squidward turns, his tentacles poised for a fight. "What is your problem?" he snaps. Plankton's eye darts around, his heart racing. He can't explain the sudden urgency, the need for order that's consuming him. The need to be perfectly cleansed without blemish. "It's just... it's just..." Plankton stammers, his antennae drooping. Squidward's eyes narrow, his tentacles still. "What's the matter with you?" he asks, his voice edged with irritation. Plankton swallows, his throat tight. "Needs good.." But before he can say more, his gaze locks onto a speck of dirt on a plate. The world around him fades away as he reaches for it, his movements slow and deliberate. Squidward watches him, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "What is that?" he asks, his tone sharp. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on the speck. "Dirt," he whispers, his voice laced with distress. "Has to be gone." His hand shakes as he reaches for the plate, his mind consumed by the need to remove the imperfection. Squidward snatches the plate, his tentacles firm. "It's just a tiny speck!" he says, his voice loud. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening. "Can't have dirt," he murmurs. The room seems to close in, his heart hammering in his chest. The need for order, for everything to be just so, is a wave crushing down on him. Squidward's face swims in his vision, a blur of impatience. "Squidward," he says, his voice steadying. "It's dirty." Squidward's grip on the plate doesn't waver. "It's not dirty," he says, his tone firm. "It's a tiny speck." But to Plankton, that speck is a boulder, a symbol of the chaos he can't control. His antennas quiver as he stares at the offending spot, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The world narrows to just the dish, the speck, and the overwhelming need to erase it. Squidward reaches out a tentacle, to move him aside, reaching to touch Plankton's shoulder. But before he can make contact, Plankton flinches, his eye snapping up to meet Squidward's. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "No touch." "Then move so I can mix the dishes.." The words hit Plankton like a wave, sending him spiraling. He can't explain it, but the thought of Squidward's tentacle touching him sends a shiver down his spine. But the only alternative is to result in disordered dishes! Squidward's grip on the plate doesn't change, his tentacle poised to push Plankton aside. "Please," Plankton whispers, his voice trembling. "No..." SpongeBob watches from a distance, his smile fading. He's noticed the changes in Plankton, the way his movements have become so precise, his speech so formal. But he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Squidward's tentacle hovers, his gaze flicking from the plate to Plankton's face. "I'm in charge, not you!" He says shoving Plankton as he mixes the dishes. That's it. The room spins around Plankton, his vision blurring with the sudden assault. The clatter of plates, the smell of grease, the touch of Squidward's tentacle— it's too much. His body reacts before his brain can catch up, the partygoers' laughter a distant echo in Plankton's ringing ears. "Plankton?" Squidward asks, his voice a distant rumble as SpongeBob comes in. Plankton's vaguely aware of his surroundings, but it's all just white noise, his gaze going blank as the absence seizure starts up.

JUST A TOUCH viii (Autistic author) After dinner, they retreat to the living room. Plankton's eye is glued to the puzzle book on the coffee table, his antennae twitching with unspoken longing. Karen picks it up, opening to a new page. "Would you like to work on this one together?" she asks, her voice gentle. He nods, his eye lighting up with the familiar challenge. Together, they tackle the puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle narration as Plankton's antennae move in time with her words. The patterns on the page hypnotize him, drawing him in. Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his focus solely on the words before him. And then the doorbell rings, breaking the spell. Karen's heart skips a beat, her hand tightening around the puzzle book. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with alarm. "Who is it?" he asks, his voice sharp. Karen's eyes dart to the clock. "It's probably SpongeBob," she murmurs. Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of his friend's name. "Party," he says, his voice hopeful. Karen nods, swiping at the tear that's managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton. SpongeBob's probably here to invite us to a party at the Krusty Krab. Do you think you're up for it?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae droop slightly. "Maybe," he says, his voice unsure. The thought of the bright lights and loud noises at the party sends a shiver of anxiety through his tiny body. But the prospect of seeing Sponge Bob is tempting. Karen sighs, understanding his hesitation. She walks to the door, her movements slow and deliberate. Sponge Bob's cheerful greeting floods the hallway. "Hey, Karen! Plankton! You guys coming to the party?" "Hey, Sponge Bob," she says, her smile forced. "What's the occasion?" Sponge Bob's face lights up like a Christmas tree, his spongy body bobbing with excitement. "Mr. Krabs is throwing a bash at the Krusty Krab!" he says, his hands gesturing wildly. "You guys are coming, right?" Plankton's antennae quiver at the mention of the party. The thought of the loud noises and the jostling crowd makes his stomach churn, but the prospect of seeing his friend shines like a beacon through the fog of his fear. Karen watches him, reading his emotions like a book. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "We can go for a little bit." Plankton nods, his antennae still. "Okay," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Karen can see the internal struggle playing out across his features. "Just stay as long as you're comfortable," she adds. "I'll just stay, you go with him." Sponge Bob's eyes light up. "Great!" he says, bending down to hold his hand. He holds his finger as they go. Plankton's grip is tight, his antennae flat against his head. The noise of the Krusty Krab is a cacophony of sounds, each one stabbing at his heightened senses. But the warmth of Sponge Bob's hand, the familiarity of their friendship, anchors him. Mr. Krabs sees Plankton clinging to Sponge Bob's side. "What's going on, laddie?" he asks, his voice gruff but concerned at the sight of their hands. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze darting to the floor. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "Why did ye invite Plankton?" he asks with suspicion. Sponge Bob's smile doesn't waver. "Well, he's always welcome..." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "But he's our enemy.." Sponge Bob's smile doesn't waver. "He's my friend," he says firmly. "And I'm watching to make sure he won't steal any thing, boss.." Mr. Krabs' eyes soften, his suspicion giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Alright, but keep an eye on him," he says, his voice gruff. Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quiver, his heart racing at the sudden influx of stimulation. The colorful lights, the smells of frying food, the laughter of the patrons—it's all so much. But Sponge Bob's hand is warm, a lifeline in the chaos. They move through the crowd, Plankton's steps small and careful. His eye darts around, trying to take it all in without getting overwhelmed. Sponge Bob's voice cuts through the noise like a knife. "You okay, buddy?" he asks, his smile concerned. Plankton nods, his voice a strained whisper. "Good," Sponge Bob says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. As they reach the party area, Plankton's antennae start to wave erratically. The lights are too bright, the sounds too loud. He clutches Sponge Bob's hand tighter. Plankton takes a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort. It's like trying to swim through jello, his senses on high alert. Sponge Bob feels the change in his friend's grip, his own heart racing with concern. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks again, his voice barely audible over the din. Plankton nods, his eye focused on the floor. The pattern of the tiles is soothing, grounding him amidst the chaos. A flash of pink darts through the crowd, and Plankton's antennas twitch. "Patrick!" Sponge Bob says, letting go of Plankton's hand. Plankton looks around and sees Squidward doing the dishes, but in a disorganized manner that Plankton needs to correct. The sight of the scattered plates, the water spots on the glasses, sends a jolt of anxiety through him. His compulsion to straighten, to organize, to make it right, is almost unbearable. So he goes to Squidward by the sink to interfere. Squidward glances up, his tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What are you doing here?" he snaps. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze fixated on the mess. "Help," he says, his voice tight. Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing another plate to wash as he ignores Plankton. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye darting between the chaos and Squidward's dismissal. He's doing the dishes wrong and needs him to help! "Squidward, let Plankton assist," he says, his voice formal. Squidward sighs, shaking his head. "Look, I don't have time for this," he says, his tentacles moving rapidly. Plankton's body tenses, his need for meticulousness consuming him. As Plankton approaches Squidward, his movements are precise, almost mechanical. His antennae twitch in time with his racing thoughts, his need for order a silent scream in the noisy room. He holds out his hand, palm up. "Wash," he says, his voice firm. Squidward pauses, eyeing him warily. "What?" Plankton's gaze is unwavering, his voice steady. "Smudges. Wash dishes. Correct way." Squidward's grip on the plate slackens, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" Plankton's antennae wave frantically. "Correct way," he repeats, his voice a desperate whisper. "No smudges. Wrong order." Squidward's tentacles still, his gaze sharpening. "What's gotten into you?" he asks, his voice filled with skepticism. Plankton's antennae twitch. "No smudges," he says again, his voice a mix of urgency and desperation. Squidward sets the plate down with a clatter. "What are you on about, Plankton?" But Plankton's focus is solely on the task at hand. He reaches for the dish soap, his movements precise. Squidward watches him, his expression a mix of annoyance and curiosity. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting to Squidward. "Just helping," he says, his voice flat as he puts the now clean dish away. But he sees imperfections on some of the clean dishes, handing them over for Squidward to wash as he straightens up the other plates. Squidward's eyebrows furrow, his gaze flicking between Plankton and the dishes. "What are you doing?" he asks again. Plankton's grip on the towel tightens, his body vibrating with the need for perfection. "It's not right," he says, his voice strained. "Has to be right." "Those I've cleaned!" Squidward says as Plankton puts them in the sink for him to wash over again. "Squidward look. No..." But before Plankton can finish, Squidward snatches the plate from his tentacles. "Look, I don't have time for your... whatever this is," he says, his voice gruff. He takes it and haphazardly shoves it with smaller plates. Plankton can't take the misalignment! Plankton's antennae stand on end, his eye wide with horror. "No!" he says, his voice rising. "Wrong order!" His hands shake as he tries to grab the plate, his mind racing with the need to correct the mistake. Squidward pulls away, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "Plankton, what's wrong with you?" he snaps. "Plankton's centrum semiovale has restricted inhibitory synaptic transmission!" Plankton's voice is a mix of panic and frustration, his antennae waving wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow, his grip on the plate tightening. "What are you talking about? I am not going to wash this again," he says, his tone firm. Squidward's words hit a nerve, triggering a cascade of emotions in Plankton. "It's not about Squidward!" he says, his voice sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..." "PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward yells, startling him as he turns back to the sink.

CATCH IN MY CHIP iv (Autistic author) Plankton looks around, confusion flickering in his eye. "What's going on?" "You had a bit of an overload," Karen explains, her voice gentle. "Too much sensory input, remember?" Plankton's antennas twitch, and his eye widens slightly as he takes in the scene. The mess, the quiet, Chip's tear-stained face. He sighs, his body relaxing back into the pillows. "Ah, yes," he murmurs. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you." Karen smiles, her eyes shimmering with relief. "It's okay, dear. We're just here for you." Plankton's gaze drifts to Chip, who's hovering in the doorway, his eyes wide and worried. "Chip... I'm sorry." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice shaking. "It's okay, Dad. Is your autism causing..." Plankton looks at him, his eye widening slightly. "What do you know about autism?" He sits up, his voice tinged with surprise. Chip sniffles, his grip tight on the seashell collection. "Mom told me," he says, his voice barely audible. "It's why you got overwhelmed, isn't it?" Plankton's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to anger. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me," he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can handle it." "But Dad you just..." Plankton cuts Chip off, his voice edged with agitation. "I said, I can handle it!" Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He hadn't meant to upset his dad; he just wanted to understand. "You couldn't handle it, Dad. Otherwise, you..." Plankton's eye narrows, his antennas standing on end. "Don't," he says, his voice a warning growl. "I don't need a little kid telling me what I can and can't handle." Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes welling up. "But I just... I didn't mean to..." "I said, I can handle it!" Plankton's voice cracks through the air, his face flushing with irritation. Karen's grip on Chip's hand tightens, a silent message to stay calm. Chip's eyes water as he stammers, "But I just wanted to help." The weight of his dad's words hits him like a brick. He hadn't meant to make him mad, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong. Plankton's breaths are sharp and quick, his body tense with frustration. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snaps, pushing the covers off his legs. "You're just a kid. You don't understand." Chip's eyes well up with tears as he looks at his father, the man he's always admired and loved, now a stranger in his own pain. "But Mom said it's okay for..." Plankton's anger flares, his antennas quivering. "Don't you dare bring your mom into this," he says, cutting Chip off again. "This is not your business!" Chip's lower lip trembles, his eyes filling with tears. He hadn't meant to upset his dad, but everything he says seems to make it worse. "But Dad," he starts, but his voice is lost in the wave of Plankton's frustration. "I don't need your pity," Plankton says, his voice rising. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, his movements quick and jerky. "You think just because you know a fancy word, you know what it's like?" Chip feels his cheeks burn, his eyes blurred with unshed tears. "No, Dad, I just..." But Plankton is already out of bed, his legs wobbly. "You think you know everything, don't you?" His words are a jumble of anger and pain, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Chip steps back, his eyes wide with shock. "No, Dad, I just..." He tries to explain, but Plankton interrupts again. "Don't tell me what you 'just,'" Plankton snaps. "You think because you went to some camp you can come back and act like you know me?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. Chip's eyes dart to the ground, his body shrinking under the weight of his father's words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger is palpable, his body vibrating with tension. "I said, don't tell me what you 'just'!" He snatches up Chip's new surfboard, the one symbol of joy from camp, and slams it against the wall. The room shakes with the impact, sending a shower of sand and shells flying. Chip jumps, his eyes wide with shock. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. He's never seen his dad like this, never felt such anger radiating from him. It's like a storm has taken over the room, and he's the only one caught in it. "What are you doing?" Chip asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a step back, his hands up in a protective gesture. "What does it look like?" Plankton snarls, his grip tight on the broken surfboard. "I can't even have a moment without you poking and prodding!" Chip's eyes dart around the room, his heart racing as he tries to find the words to fix this. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to help." But Plankton is beyond reason, his anger a living thing that feeds off the chaos. He turns to the desk, his gaze settling on the pile of sandy photos. "You think your camp souvenirs mean anything to me?" He snatches the pictures, ripping them into shreds. Chip gasps, tears spilling down his cheeks as he watches his memories destroyed. "Dad, no!" He tries to grab the photos, his hands shaking, but Plankton swats him away, the torn pieces falling like confetti around them. The room seems to close in, the smell of saltwater and musty sand overwhelming him. "These are from my trip!" Chip sobs, his voice choking on his own pain. "I don't care about your trip!" Plankton shouts, throwing the remaining pieces into the air. They flutter down like sad confetti, a stark contrast to the joy they once represented. "I care about me! I care about what you do to me with your noise and your energy!" Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces, each one a memory of his dad's love and patience torn apart. "I didn't mean to," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears. "I just wanted to share..." Plankton's eye flashes with anger, his grip on the shredded photos white-knuckled. "Share?" He spits the word out like it's poison. "You have no idea what you're doing to me! You just keep pushing and pushing, and you don't even notice when I can't take it anymore!" Chip's eyes dart to the floor, his hands curling into fists. "I thought you liked it," he says, his voice shaking. "I thought you liked when I talked about my day." Plankton's chest heaves, his eye blazing with frustration. "You don't get it, do you?" He says, his voice rising. "You never get it!" He picks up Chip's rare seashell collection, the one he'd been so proud to show off, and hurls it across the room. The sound of breaking shells fills the air, each one a shard of Chip's shattered happiness. "Dad, please!" Chip begs, his hands outstretched. "Stop!" But Plankton's rage has taken over, a whirlwind of accusations and anger. "You think this is fun?" He yells, holding up a shard of seashell. "You think this is what I want?" Plankton throws the shard down, the clatter of broken shells like a mocking echo of Chip's pleas. "I don't want your noise!" His hands shake with fury as he grabs the sandy trophy from the camp sandwich contest. "Dad, please," Chip says, his voice small and scared. "What's wrong?" He tries to approach, but Plankton's body language is a clear warning. Plankton's eye dart around the room, his anger a tangible force. "Wrong?" He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "Wrong is you, coming in here with your stories and your noise and your... stuff!" He gestures wildly at the camp souvenirs, the remnants of Chip's excitement scattered across the floor. He hurls the trophy at the wall, watching with a twisted satisfaction as it shatters into a hundred pieces. "This," he says, holding up a fistful of sand, "this is what you do to me!" Chip flinches with each broken piece, his heart aching. "But Dad, I just wanted to make you proud." His voice is barely a whisper, lost in the storm of Plankton's rage. "Proud?" Plankton sneers, his grip tight on the sand. "You think this junk makes me proud?" He throws the sand at Chip, the grains stinging his face like tiny needles. "You have no idea what I go through every day, do you?" His voice cracks, his anger giving way to pain. Karen steps in, her voice firm but calm. "Plankton, that's enough." Her eyes are on her son, her face a mask of concern. "Chip, why don't you go... dust your screen?" Her tone is gentle, but her gaze holds a silent message: stay calm. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's. He turns and heads for the bathroom, his steps slow and deliberate. The door clicks closed behind him, leaving Karen and Plankton alone in the room.

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii (Autistic author) the only sound the steady rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his eye unclenching, his antennas stilling. Karen's hand remains poised, ready to offer comfort should he need it. As his breathing evens, Plankton's eye flutter open. He looks at Karen, her face a picture of love and concern. He feels a pang of guilt for his earlier outburst, but also a wave of gratitude for her understanding. He knows she doesn't push or harm, she just gets it. Karen sees the shift in his gaze, the anger giving way to something softer. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton shakes his head slightly, his antennas drooping. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Just... needing a moment." Karen nods, her hand still hovering, a silent offer of comfort. "Take all the moments you need," she says, her voice gentle. Plankton's gaze lingers on her hand for a moment before he nods. He understands her unspoken offer, her respect for his boundaries. Karen knows that touch can sometimes be too much for him, a sensation that turns comforting into overwhelming. So, she waits, letting the air between them remain unbroken by physical contact, allowing him the space he desperately needs. The room is a canvas of shadows and quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton slowly uncoils, his body no longer a taut wire ready to snap. "Do you want me to let you alone?" Karen asks, her voice soft as a whisper in the night. Plankton shakes his head, his eye meeting hers. The anger is gone, replaced by a weary sadness. She nods, her hand still hovering, a silent question mark. "Okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "But if you need anything, just tell me." Plankton takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling like waves on the shore. "Thank you," he murmurs, his eye brightening slightly. Karen nods, her hand still hovering but not touching. "I'm here," she says. "Always." Her voice is a lullaby in the quiet room, a gentle reminder that she's his anchor in the storm of sensory overload. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He's aware of her presence, but the weight of his guilt and frustration is to much. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a frayed thread of his usual bravado. Karen's hand remains hovering, a silent question, a gentle offer. "Do you want me to stay?" she asks, her voice a soft breeze in the stillness. Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a whisper of relief. Karen's hand lowers slowly, coming to rest on the bed between them. She's careful not to cross the invisible barrier of his personal space, her touch a gentle promise of support. "You don't have to be sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "You're doing the best you can, Plankton." He nods, his antennas twitching slightly. "But I snapped," he says, his voice filled with regret. Karen's hand remains still, just outside his personal space. "It's okay," she whispers, her tone filled with empathy. "You're overwhelmed. It happens." Plankton nods, his antennas barely moving. "But I shouldn't have yelled," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry." Karen's eyes fill with understanding. "It's okay, sweetie," she says. She reaches out slowly, her hand hovering an inch from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks, her eyes searching his for consent. Plankton's antennas twitch, his body still tense, but he nods. It's a small gesture, but it's enough. Karen's hand settles on his shoulder, her touch feather-light. He flinches at first, his body remembering the pain of the unexpected touch, but her gentle pressure is a soothing balm. He leans into it slightly, his body language speaking louder than his words ever could. Her hand on his shoulder is the bridge between them, a testament to their love and understanding. Plankton's breathing gradually deepens, his body softening into the mattress. Karen's touch is a lullaby, a promise that everything will be okay. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their breaths the only sound. Plankton's eye droops, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion. The weight of his head shifts slightly, his trust in Karen unspoken but palpable. Her hand remains on his shoulder, a gentle reminder of her presence. She watches his chest rise and fall, his body slowly relaxing under the soft blanket of sleep. His features smooth out, the lines of anger and frustration disappearing into the pillow. As his breaths become even, Karen can't help but feel a mix of sadness and love. Her heart goes out to him, this man she's spent her life with, who fights battles she can never fully understand. The room is a sanctuary of quiet, the air thick with the scent of their unspoken words. Plankton's hand twitches slightly, and she wonders if he's dreaming of a world where the noise isn't so loud, where the colors aren't so bright, where his mind can rest without fear of being bombarded. Karen watches as her husband's chest rises and falls, his breaths deepening into the steady rhythm of sleep. The lines of his face relax, his antennas droop slightly. Her gaze shifts to the shattered trophy on the floor, the sand scattered like a tiny desert. The room is a testament to the storm that was his sensory overload. Karen's hand tightens slightly on Plankton's shoulder, her heart aching for both her husband and son. She knows the road ahead won't be easy, that they'll need to navigate this new terrain with care. But as she watches Plankton's chest rise and fall, she feels a spark of hope.

CHIP AND FAIL ix (Autistic author) Chip stared at his dad, his mind racing. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never understood why. Now, as he watched the man he idolized quivering with overstimulation, he couldn't help but feel a deep sadness and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice tight. Plankton's antennae shot up, his face contorting with a sudden surge of anger. "ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound exploding from his chest like a bomb, his antennae quivering with each syllable. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with shock. He had never heard his dad so angry before, never seen him so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You're sorry?" Plankton spat, his antennae vibrating with rage. "You don't get it, Chip. You never will." His voice was a storm, his words cutting through the tension in the room. "You think I don't want to hear your stories? You think I don't want to be a part of your life?" His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his eye blazing with pain. Chip took a step back, his hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..." But Plankton was a tornado, his anger a living thing in the room. "You think I don't want to connect with you?" he shouted, his antennas whipping around. "You think I don't love you?" His voice broke, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. Chip stared at his dad, his eyes like saucers. "But Dad, you always push me away," he protested, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You never want me to touch you or..." "You just let me explain!" Plankton shouted, cutting him off. His antennae were a blur with the force of his emotions, his eye flashing. "You always keep pushing and pushing, and it's too much!" His words were a volley of thunder, each one striking Chip like a physical blow. Chip took a step back, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad, I just want to be close to you," he choked out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't understand why you can't..." "Because you don't listen!" Plankton's voice was a whip, slicing through the air. "You don't see the storm in my head, the way every touch feels like a storm, every sound a siren!" His antennae quivered with rage, his body tense. "You think it's easy for me? That I don't want to be there for you?" Chip took another step back, his hands up in defense. "I didn't know," he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." He says reaching out with a trembling hand, but Plankton's swatting Chip's hand away. "Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his body trembling with rage. "Can't you see that?" His voice was a knife, sharp and unforgiving. "And don't you DARE say you're better off without me!" His eye blazed with a fierce protectiveness that Chip had never seen before. Chip's hand hovered in the air, his fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, "I just want to be close to you." He took a step closer... "NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae snapping like whips. "You don't get to invade my space like that!" His body was a live wire, his anger a force field that repelled Chip's reaching hand. "You think it's funny?" His voice was a maelstrom of pain and fury. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his hand dropping to his side. "I just wanted to help," he murmured, his voice tiny in the face of his father's storm.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii (Autistic author) "It's okay, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his voice soothing. "We're just going for a walk. Nothing to worry about." The three of them walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the lapping of the waves and the occasional squawk of a seagull. Karen could feel the tension, and she wondered what was going on inside his head. As they neared the jellyfish fields Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, Plankton, you remember jellyfishing right?" He asked, his tone hopeful. Plankton's antennae stopped the nervous twitching for a moment. "Jellyfishing," he murmured, the memory sparking a glimmer of interest. "Jellyfish sting." Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. "Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said trying to keep the conversation light. Karen could see the effort in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt for ever thinking poorly of him. "Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his voice still flat. Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all the good times we had?" Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good times," he echoed. Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Karen took and squeezed Plankton's hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. "Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty sparkly rock." Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before going in the familiar jellyfish fields. Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok Karen?" he asked. "He's just... different now," Karen said, voice tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and the doctor says he has acquired autism." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think I have that, too! But what does that mean for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. "It means he's going to need some help," Karen said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be the same Plankton we know, but his brain works differently now." Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying to understand. "Different like how?" Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat what we say," she began, watching Plankton as he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's called echolalia. It's a way for him to process language now." Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding. Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. "Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating words. It's how he processes information now." Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a particularly shiny rock and was now examining it with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more time to understand what people are saying to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton. "How might he act?" Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.." Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know." Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen. Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an encouraging thumbs-up. The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, his eye wide with distress. "Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained. Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, rocking back and forth. "It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. "Just breathe, darling." Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his antennae quivering. "What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice filled with concern. Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as he hummed a tune to himself. Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up, gaze still slightly unfocused. "Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle. Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. "Sounds can be really intense for him now." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down then," he said, his voice a whisper. Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "It means a lot." They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon. Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice gentle. "SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with. Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. "We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can all help each other understand." Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology book that's been lying on the coffee table, half open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new found interest. "Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish." Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a jellyfish." Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty." Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus. Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now." Sponge Bob nods. Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely focused on something to the point where it's almost all he can think about." Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton I see you like the book of jellyfish?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye never leaving the page. Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading across his face. "I can see you really love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii (Autistic author) Inside, she sets him down on their favorite couch, the one with the frayed edges and the squeaky spring that always reminded them of their first date. The room is cluttered with half-finished inventions and plans for Krabby Patty heists. She sits beside him. The silence stretches on, heavier than a net full of anchovies. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting around the room, taking in the chaos. Karen's mind is racing, wondering if he recognizes any of it, if it brings back any memories of their life together. "Home," he murmurs, his voice filled with uncertainty. The room feels smaller, more cramped than she remembered, as if the walls are closing in on them. "Do you like it here?" she asks, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks around, his antennas moving slightly as he processes his surroundings. "Home," he says again, his voice a mix of curiosity and confusion. The room is a jumble of wires, gadgets, and half-eaten chum sticks. Karen's with tears as she realizes how much she's taken for granted their life together. She had always loved Plankton's quirks and his boundless energy, but now his mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, unable to move beyond the basic functions of acknowledgment. "Home," Plankton says again, his antennas drooping. "Home with Karen." The repetition of the words stirs something within Karen. Echolalia, the doctor had called it, a common trait in those with autism. It was Plankton's way of trying to understand the world around him, to find comfort in familiar words and phrases. "Yes," she whispers, her throat tight with emotion. "This is our home." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's echolalic chant of "home with Karen" repeats in a soothing loop. Each time he says it, Karen feels a pang of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was finding comfort in the simplicity of their life together. "Home with Karen," he says again, his antennas slightly more animated. Karen nods, brimming with tears. "Yes, Plankton, we're home." But she sees a flicker of distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his antennas quivering with urgency. "Where's Sponge Bob?" Karen's heart squeezes at the mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not here right now," she says, choosing her words carefully. "But he'll come to visit." Plankton's antennas shoot up, his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob." The desperation in his tone is heart-wrenching, and Karen knows she needs to act fast to soothe his anxiety. "Ok, ok," she says, her voice calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob." Karen picks up the phone, her hands shaking slightly as she dials the familiar number. The phone rings once, twice, before it's answered by a cheerful voice. "Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice sounds surprised but concerned. "Is everything ok?" Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's Plankton," she says. "He's asking for you to come over." There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Plankton? But we're... I mean?" Sponge Bob's voice is filled with confusion. Karen's with desperation as she watches Plankton rock back and forth on the couch, his chant growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need Sponge Bob." "Please, Sponge Bob," she pleads, her voice cracking. Sponge Bob's voice on the other end of the line softens. "Of course, Karen. I'll be right over." The line goes dead, and Karen hangs up the phone, feeling a tiny spark of hope. Plankton's cries for Sponge Bob have become more insistent, his rocking more pronounced. She gently places a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. "Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "He'll be here soon." Plankton's rocking slows, his antennas drooping slightly. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his eye searching hers. "Safe." The word hangs in the air, and Karen realizes that despite his confusion, he feels comfort in Sponge Bob's presence. A few moments later, they hear the telltale sound of bubbles popping against the glass, and a knock on the door. With a tremble, Karen stands and opens it to reveal Sponge Bob, looking slightly nervous but determined. "Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. Plankton's antennas shoot up at the sound of his name, and he whips his head around to face the door. "Sponge Bob!" he shouts, his eye lighting up with an unmistakable joy. Sponge Bob steps into the room. "Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of excitement and relief. He lunges forward, wrapping his tiny arms around the larger sponge in an embrace. Sponge Bob looks surprised but quickly returns the hug, his spongy form enveloping Plankton completely. "Plankton, what's going on?" he asks, his eyes wide with concern. He's never seen Plankton like this. Plankton pulls back, his expression a jumble of emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says again, his voice filled with affection. He grabs Sponge Bob's hand and tugs him closer. "Home with Karen. Need you." Sponge Bob looks to Karen, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but she nods encouragingly. "It's ok," she says. "He's just happy you're here." The sight of Plankton's excited state brings a smile to Sponge Bob's face, despite his confusion. He sits down next to him on the couch, his own excitement growing. "What do you want to do?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. Plankton's antennas twitch as he thinks, his eye darting around the room. "Let's play a game," he suddenly exclaims, his voice filled with a child-like excitement that hadn't been there before. "What kind of game, Plankton?" Karen asks, eager to encourage his newfound energy. "Chess!" he exclaims, pointing to a dusty board in the corner of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He leaps up from the couch and wipes the dust from the board with his spongy hand, setting up the pieces with surprising efficiency. Karen watches from the sidelines, her heart swelling with love and hope as Plankton's enthusiasm grows. He moves the pieces with a frenetic energy, his eye alight with a joy she hadn't seen since before the accident. Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, matches his excitement, even though he's clearly outmatched by Plankton's strategic mind. "Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, his antennas waving with each word. Sponge Bob's expression is a mix of surprise and admiration. "Wow, Plankton, you're really good at this!" The room echoes with Plankton's laughter, a sound that's both familiar and foreign to Karen's ears. The old Plankton would have gloated. "Checkmate," he says again, his antennas bobbing in excitement. "Checkmate, checkmate." Sponge Bob laughs, a wonderful, genuine laugh that fills the room. "You win, Plankton," he says, his hands clapping together. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, and he looks at Sponge Bob, his eye studying the sponge's reaction. "Win," he repeats, a hint of understanding in his voice. "Win at chess." He claps like SpongeBob. Sponge Bob's eyes light up, seeing the connection. "Yes, Plankton, you won the chess game," he says, his voice soothing. "You're really good at it." Plankton's antennas start to twitch again, his eye darting between the board and Sponge Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his voice filled with a newfound sense of pride. "Win with Sponge Bob." The phrase becomes a chant, his brain finding solace in the repetition. "Win with Sponge Bob, win with Sponge Bob." Sponge Bob smiles warmly, picking up the rhythm of Plankton's words. "Yes, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You won the game. You're a great chess player." Plankton's antennas quiver, his eye locking onto Sponge Bob's. "Great chess player," he echoes, his voice a mix of pride and amazement. "Win with Sponge Bob." Karen watches from the sidelines with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the breakthrough they needed. Sponge Bob's presence was calming him, bringing out a side of Plankton she hadn't seen since the accident.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iv (Autistic author) "Let's play again," Plankton says, his voice eager. Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine. "Ok, Plankton pick a board game." Karen watches as Sponge Bob sorts through the disarray of their game collection, his spongy fingers touching each box before finally settling on a card game. "Go Fish!" Sponge Bob exclaims, holding up the battered cards. Plankton's face lights up at the familiar phrase, his antennas waggling with excitement. "Fish, fish, fish," he repeats, his voice echoing the words. The two sit cross-legged on the floor, the cards spread out in front of them. Plankton's hands tremble slightly as he picks up his cards, but his concentration is intense. "Fish," he whispers, holding his hand out to Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob nods, understanding the game despite Plankton's simplified request. "Go Fish," he responds, placing a card into Plankton's outstretched palm. Plankton's eye brightens, and he repeats the action, placing a card into Sponge Bob's hand. "Fish," he says again, his voice slightly more confident. "Plankton you gotta take a card from the pile.." Sponge Bob starts to explain, but Plankton's antennas shoot up, and he interrupts. "Fish from the pile," he repeats, his voice eager. He reaches for the deck and draws a card, his eye never leaving Sponge Bob's. Sponge Bob nods. "That's right, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Go Fish." Plankton repeats the phrase, his antennas bobbing with each word. "Go Fish," he murmurs, his eye scanning the cards. Sponge Bob nods, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Good job, Plankton," he encourages. "Your turn to ask for a card." Plankton's antennas wiggle as he thinks, his eye darting to his hand. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and focus. "Got any...?" He pauses, his brain searching for the right word. "Got any...?" "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob prompts, his smile never wavering. "Fish," Plankton repeats, his antennas bobbing. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob nods, understanding dawning. "Do you have any twos?" Plankton's antennas twitch in excitement. "Two," he echoes, his voice triumphant. "Do you have any twos?" Sponge Bob's smile falters slightly as he nods, looking at his own cards. He's not sure how to proceed. He decides to keep the game simple. "I don't have any twos," he says. "Now it's your turn to Go Fish." Plankton nods, his concentration unbroken. He scans his cards again. "Got any fish?" he asks, his voice determined. Sponge Bob's smile widens, his eyes sparkling with understanding. "No fish here," he says, placing a card face down. "Go Fish." Plankton's antennas twitch rapidly as he processes the new information, his brain working to keep up with the game's flow. "Go Fish," he repeats, his voice gaining confidence with each exchange. Sponge Bob's eyes widen slightly but he nods along, playing his part. "Okay, Plankton," he says, placing a card on the pile. "Your turn." Plankton's antennas wobble as he considers his next move. "Got any fish?" he asks again, his voice a mix of excitement and challenge. Sponge Bob's smile becomes a bit forced. "Nope," he says, his voice still cheerful. "Go Fish." Plankton's eye dart to the cards in his hand, then back to Sponge Bob. His antennas wave erratically as he tries to formulate his next question. "Got any...?" Sponge Bob waits patiently, his heart aching for his friend. He's never seen Plankton like this before, for SpongeBob doesn't know about the accident nor the diagnosis. "Got any fish?" Plankton's words echo in the silence of the room. Sponge Bob's confusion mounts as he looks into his friend's eye, searching for a clue to what's going on. "No, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice strained. "I don't have any fish." Plankton's antennas drop slightly, his expression one of disappointment. "Go Fish," he murmurs, his gaze drifting to the card pile. Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend, trying to understand this new, strange behavior. "Do you want to play something else?" he asks, hoping to distract Plankton from his obsession with the game. But Plankton's antennas spring back to life. "More fish," he insists, his voice almost a command. Sponge Bob nods, his mind racing to comprehend what's happening. He knows Plankton's mind is sharp, so why the repetition? "Got any fish?" Plankton asks again, his voice growing more urgent. Sponge Bob's smile falters. He's never seen Plankton act this way before. The urgency in Plankton's voice, the repetition of words, it's all so strange and disconcerting. "I don't understand," he says, his voice small and unsure. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's antennas quiver slightly at Sponge Bob's question, but his eye remains fixed on the cards. "I don't understand," he says, voice soft but firm. "What's going on with you." Sponge Bob's smile falters, his eyes searching Plankton's face for answers. "It's just a game, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern. "You don't have to keep asking for fish." This isn't the Plankton he knows, the cunning and scheming arch-nemesis who always has a plan up his sleeve. This is someone else entirely, someone lost and confused. But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. "Fish," he whispers, his antennas twitching in time with his words. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob feels a knot form in his stomach. Is Plankton trying to annoy him? "Plankton, are you ok?" he asks gently, his voice filled with concern. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, his gaze meeting Sponge Bob's. "Plankton are you ok," he echoes, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for a clue. "Fish." Sponge Bob's brow furrows deeper, his confusion growing. "You don't have to keep asking for fish, Plankton," he says again. But Plankton's mind is stuck on the pattern, his voice insistent. "Fish," he repeats. Sponge Bob's now getting irritated. The echoing of his words, the intense stare, and the persistent demand for "fish" are unlike anything he's ever seen. "Plankton, please," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "I don't have any fish. Let's play a different game." But Plankton's antennas only wiggle more rapidly. "Fish," he insists. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob's patience is wearing thin, his cheery demeanor slipping away. "I said no!" he snaps, his voice a little too loud. Plankton recoils at the sudden change in tone, his antennas drooping. "Fish?" he whispers, his voice filled with uncertainty. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with regret at his outburst. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, his voice softening. "I didn't mean to yell. But Plankton, I don't have any more fish!" Plankton's antennas sag, and his eye becomes unfocused. "No fish," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob's never seen Plankton like this, his behavior so repetitive and unresponsive to his words. It was as if the game had become the center of Plankton's entire world, and Sponge Bob's refusal to play along had shattered it. "I'm sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice trembling with frustration. "I just don't understand why you're so obsessed with fish." Plankton looks up, his eye meeting Sponge Bob's, a hint of hurt flickering across his expression. "Fish," he says again, his voice smaller this time. "Need fish." Sponge Bob sighs, his hands going to his face. "Ok," he says, his voice muffled. "Let's just finish this game."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii (Autistic Author) The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. During a particularly suspenseful scene, Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's arm instinctively. But the sudden touch sends Plankton spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he starts to shake uncontrollably. "Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening in concern. Plankton's body jolts, his antennae flailing wildly as his eye roll back. "Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear as he clutches his father's arm tighter. Plankton's tremors only worsen, his body convulsing in a way that's both frightening and heartbreaking. Karen's realizes what's happening. "Chip, let go!" she cries. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice trembling with fear. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae flailing as if trying to escape the confines of his own body. His mouth opens in a silent scream. Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but something else entirely—a meltdown, a result of the overwhelming emotions he's been trying to hold in. She rushes to his side with worry. "Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae thrashing about like seaweed in a storm. Karen quickly moves closer, her own hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice firm yet filled with empathy. "What's wrong with him?" he stammers, voice trembling. Karen's full of sadness as she takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling him away from Plankton's convulsing form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Her movements are swift and sure as she guides Chip away from the couch, her gaze never leaving Plankton. His body is still racked with tremors, his antennae a wild mess of emotions. She knows that touch can be overwhelming for Plankton in moments like these, so she keeps her distance, giving him the space he needs. "Why is he doing that?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky with fear. Karen's heart aches as she holds him close, trying to shield him from the harshness of the world. "It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she explains gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Sometimes, when some neurodivergent people get really upset or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like this." Karen's on Plankton, who's still trembling on the couch, his antennae a blur of distress. She knows he needs space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe distance, speaking softly so as not to add to the sensory overload. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's ok. Just breathe." Plankton's body continues to spasm, his antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. Karen's filled with a fierce determination as she carefully approaches him, her movements slow and calculated to avoid triggering more distress. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm here." Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his body calming as he registers her presence. "It's ok," she repeats. With trembling hands, she reaches out to stroke his back, the barest touch. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps. "Just breathe," she whispers again, her hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's ok, you're ok." Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, his body following suit. The tremors subside, leaving him drained and panting. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder. Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's way of letting out all the big feelings." Chip watches, his grip on Karen tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he asks, his voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give him a moment." The room is silent except for Plankton's uneven breathing. The colors from the TV flicker across their faces, painting them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen can feel Chip's little heart beating against hers, and she knows he's scared. "It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just needs some time." Plankton's antennae droop, his body finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen nods, her hand still on his back, offering assurance without words. "Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can you go to your room for a bit?" He nods, eyes still glued to his father, but he doesn't protest. With a heavy heart, Karen watches her son disappear down the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. Turning her full attention to Plankton, she sits down beside him, her hand resting lightly on his back. His breathing is still ragged, his antennae barely moving. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen nods with understanding. "We'll talk to him," she says gently. "But first, let's make sure you're ok." Plankton's body still trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand on his back, her touch a silent promise that she's there for him. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, trying to soothe him. "You don't have to apologize," she says firmly. "You are who you are, and we love you for it." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up at her, his single eye brimming with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to be a good dad like this," he chokes out. Karen's heart breaks at his words, but she keeps her voice steady. "You're already a great dad, Plankton," she says. "You just need to find a way to show Chip that." He looks at her, hope and doubt warring in his expression. "How?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Karen takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "By teaching him," she says gently. "By letting him in, just like you're letting us in now." Plankton's antennae droop, and he nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen squeezes his hand. "He already does," she says gently. "And he loves you anyway."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ix (Autistic author) The silence in the room was suffocating, the echo of Mr. Krabs' footsteps the only sound as he retreated to his home, his heart feeling heavier than his treasure chest. Sponge Bob's heart torn between pity and frustration. He looked at Plankton, his friend's gaze still locked on the chessboard, his body a portrait of rejection. "Plankton," he whispered, his voice full of pain. But Plankton didn't move, his antennas twitching slightly. Sponge Bob felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. He didn't know what to do, what to say, to make things right. He glanced at Karen, her lights dimming slightly with sadness. "I'll leave you two to talk." With a nod to Sponge Bob, she left the room, leaving them alone in the stifling silence. Sponge Bob approached Plankton cautiously, his heart pounding. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, but he didn't look up. "Nothing," he murmured, his voice flat. "Cannot change." Sponge Bob's eyes welled with tears. "I mean right now, I can do what you want me to," he pleaded. "You're my best friend, Plankton." Plankton's antennas lifted, his single eye meeting Sponge Bob's gaze. "We can talk, we can play a game, we can watch some thing..." Plankton's antennas remained still, his expression unreadable. "Watch," he said finally, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. Sponge Bob nodded, his heart heavy with disappointment. He knew his friend needed space, and he would give it to him. The screen flickered to life. Sponge Bob felt a pang of despair, his hand hovering over the remote. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his gaze unfocused. "Okay," he murmured. Sponge Bob selected a nature documentary, knowing Plankton. They sat in silence as the soothing sounds of the ocean filled the room, the TV's blue light washing over them. Plankton's body relaxed slightly, his antennas still as he watched. Sponge Bob felt a tiny spark of hope when Plankton scoots up next to him. The documentary played on, the narrator's soothing voice detailing the lives of jellyfish. Sponge Bob watched Plankton from the corner of his eye, his heart aching at the sight of his friend's vacant gaze. He reached over and gently placed his hand on Plankton's shoulder, his touch tentative. Plankton didn't flinch, his eye never leaving the screen. Sponge Bob swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered, "I'm here for you." Plankton's antenna twitched slightly, a barely perceptible acknowledgment. The silence stretched on, the only sound the rhythmic pulse of the jellyfish through the speakers. Sponge Bob's hand remained on Plankton's shoulder, his thumb making small, comforting circles. As the documentary droned on, Plankton's antennas gradually lost their rigidity, drooping slightly with each passing moment. The rhythmic pulse of the jellyfish on the screen seemed to lull him into a state of quiet contemplation. His gaze grew unfocused, his eyelid fluttered once, then twice, before finally settling shut. Plankton's tiny frame relaxed into SpongeBob's side, breathing evening out. His hand remained on Plankton's shoulder, his thumb continuing to make small circles as his friend slipped into slumber. When SpongeBob turned off the tv, he noticed Plankton's head drooped to the side with a soft snore, his body gone slack. Plankton was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. The yellow sponge felt a wave of relief wash over him as he realized that his friend had finally found some peace. He carefully scooted Plankton closer. He knew Plankton needed his rest, especially with his brain trying to adjust to this new reality. Karen came back in to see Plankton's antennas limp and Sponge Bob's hand on his shoulder. She nodded gently at the sponge, who looked up and sighed. "It's ok to let him rest. He's been through a lot." She says. Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening slightly. "I know. I just want to help," he replies, his voice barely audible over Plankton's soft snores. Karen's lights flicker gently. "You are helping by being here, Sponge Bob. Just give him time and space to adjust." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. "I'll do anything for him." Karen's light blips. "I know you will. But for now, let's get him to his bed." Sponge Bob nods, carefully scooping up Plankton, cradling him like a fragile shell. He carries him to the bedroom. He lays him down, tucking the blanket under his chin with extra care. Plankton's snores soften into a gentle purr, his antennas twitching slightly in his sleep. Sponge Bob pulls up a chair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving his friend's face. He feels a heavy responsibility, a desire to be there for Plankton in ways he's never had to before. As the minutes tick by, Sponge Bob begins to feel the weight of the day's events. His eyes grow heavy, his body swaying with exhaustion. Despite his resolve, he can't keep his lids open any longer. With a yawn, he collapses into the chair beside Plankton's bed, his head lolling to the side. His eyes close. Plankton opens his eye to find Sponge Bob asleep next to him. Plankton's gaze lingers on the sponge, his expression unreadable. He moves his antennas slightly, testing the boundaries of his new reality. The weight of Mr. Krabs' apology and his own words hang heavy on him. With a deep sigh, he knew that his relationship with Mr. Krabs was irrevocably changed, but he hadn't expected the sadness that accompanied the realization. He watched as Sponge Bob's chest lifted and fell in a steady rhythm, his grip on the blanket tight. A strange warmth spread through Plankton's heart, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Sponge Bob had always been his friend, even when he was at his worst. But this... This was different. This was someone sticking by him, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. The warmth grew, spreading through Plankton like a gentle current. It was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He had felt it before, with Karen. Yet this was a different kind of warmth. This was friendship, pure and untainted by the greed that usually consumed him before... He studied Sponge Bob's peaceful face, his mind racing. This sponge, his enemy's best worker, had shown more kindness and understanding in the past few hours than anyone else in his life, other than Karen. And for what? A chance at the Krabby formula? No, for him. For Plankton. The warmth grew stronger, pushing out the coldness that usually dominated his thoughts. He felt a strange urge to reciprocate, to be... nicer. Sponge Bob stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "Plankton?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. Plankton's antennas lift slightly, his single eye focusing on the yellow form beside him. "Yes, Sponge Bob," he replies, his voice gentler than before. Sponge Bob sits up with a start. "How long have you been up?" he asks, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of pain or distress. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. "Not long," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob's expression is a mixture of relief and concern. "Do you want to talk?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennas wave slightly, a tiny nod of his head. "Talk," he echoes, his voice soft. Sponge Bob takes a deep breath, trying to form the words he desperately wants to say. "I just... I want you to know that I'm here for you, Plankton," he says, his voice shaking. Plankton's antennas wave slightly, and his eye narrows. "Here for Plankton," he echoes, his voice flat. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears. "Yes, Plankton," he whispers. "Always." Plankton's antennas twitch again, the word "always" echoing in his mind. "Always," he murmurs.

CATCH IN MY CHIP ii (Autistic author) Chip looks at his father with newfound understanding. He remembers the way Plankton's eye would sometimes glaze over when the TV was too loud or when the restaurant was too crowded. He'd always assumed it was just his dad being tired or grumpy, not that his brain was struggling to keep up. "So, what is it?" Chip asks, his voice small and scared. Karen takes a deep breath. "It's called autism, sweetie. And it just means that Daddy's brain works a little differently. Sometimes, it's really good at things, like inventing and remembering stuff. But sometimes, it can get overwhelmed by too much noise or too many people or things." Chip nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "But why doesn't he tell me?" Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand in hers. "Because he doesn't always know it's happening until it's too late. And sometimes, talking about it can make it harder for him." She looks up at her son with a gentle smile. "But now that you know, you can help him. Like giving him space when he needs it, or turning down the TV." Chip nods, his mind racing. He's always thought his dad was a little weird, but now he knows it's not just weirdness. It's something real, something that makes him who he is. He looks back at Plankton, feeling a mix of concern and curiosity. He goes and touches his dad's arm, his heart racing. "Dad, wake up," Chip cries, his hand shaking slightly. But Karen steps in, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Let's give him some space, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's still form. He retreats to the corner of the room, clutching his newly acquired seashell collection tightly to his chest. His mind races with questions, but fear keeps his mouth shut. He watches as his mom pulls the curtains, dimming the light to a gentle glow that seems to ease the tension in the room. The quiet is almost deafening now, the only sound the faint hum of the Chum Bucket's air-conditioning. Chip sits cross-legged on the floor, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. He'd always known his dad was unique, but he didn't realize it was something so... serious. Karen sits beside Plankton, speaking in hushed tones. "It's okay, dear," she says, stroking his arm. "Just breathe." Plankton's body twitches slightly, his eye still open and unseeing. Chip watches, wishing he could do something to help. He tries to be patient, his mind racing with questions about what just happened. Why couldn't Dad handle his stories and his energy? Why did he just... shut down? He'd never seen anyone react that way before. Chip's curiosity gets the better of him, and he tiptoes closer to the bed, peering over his mom's shoulder. Plankton's eye is still staring off into space, and his breathing is still shallow. "Mom, what's autism?" He whispers. Karen glances over at him, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "It's a condition that affects how people process information, honey," she says, her voice soft. "Some things that are easy for you and me, like talking and being around lots of noise, can be really hard for Daddy." Chip's eyes widen with realization. "So, when I was sharing all my stories and showing him my stuff, I was being too loud and moving too much?" Karen nods. "Sometimes, yes. It's like if you were trying to read a book in the middle of a rock concert. It's hard to focus." Chip looks down at his sandy hands, feeling a pang of guilt. "I didn't know," he murmurs. Karen smiles sadly. "It's okay, Chip. We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to think of your dad as different. But now that you know, you can help us take care of him." Chip nods solemnly, watching his mom gently guide Plankton to a more comfortable position on the bed. "How do we help him?" Karen sighs. "Well, for starters, we give him some space when he needs it. And when he's feeling better, we can talk about it, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's still form. He wants to help, but he doesn't know how. He watches as his mom covers Plankton with a blanket, her movements gentle and soothing. "What do we do now?" Karen looks at him, her expression full of warmth. "Now, we wait."

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii (Autistic author) "Now let's go to the living room and I'll go pick up a smoothie for you. Can you stay here by yourself?" He nodded, his expression slightly less tense. "I'll be back soon," she assured him, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the Chum Bucket. Just moments later, Karen's friend Hanna came for a surprise visit. She knew Karen had a husband named Plankton, but she never met him. Plankton was now back on the living room couch. "Oh, you must be Plankton!" Hanna exclaimed. Plankton's eye flitted to her, his expression unreadable. Hanna walked over to the couch, her smile wide and genuine. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, embracing him in a hug. Plankton stiffened, his eye wide with surprise. His body tensed, his mind racing to process this new sensory input. "You ok?" Hanna asked, pulling back slightly. She had noticed his reaction but didn't know the reason behind it. Plankton nodded, his eye darting around the room again. He wasn't used to such spontaneous affection, and the unexpected sensation of Hanna's arms around him had thrown him off balance. "Yes, I am Plankton," he murmured, his voice monotone. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Hanna's smile didn't waver, unaware of the turmoil within his mind. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's gaze flicked to the ceiling, his mind racing to find the right words. "Today, feeling," he echoed, his voice still a whisper. The repetition was a comfort, a way to process the flood of sensory information that assaulted him continuously. Hanna looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You know, your wife Karen tells me you're an inventor," she said, her tone innocently curious. Plankton's eye locked onto hers, his mind racing to understand the context of her words. "Inventor," he repeated, his voice flat. It was a word he knew, but it felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. "Yes, inventor," Hanna said, nodding enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about your gadgets and contraptions. What are you working on these days?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room again, his mind struggling to grasp the concept of 'working'. "Gadgets, contraptions," he murmured, his voice a broken record. Hanna's expression was one of confusion, her smile beginning to fade. "Well, what do you do all day?" she prodded gently, trying to coax him out of his silence. Plankton's reply was immediate and robotic, "Do, all day, all day." Hanna's brow furrowed, uncertain how to interpret his repetitive response. She had known Karen for years, but Plankton's behavior was unlike anything she had ever heard of her friend's husband. "Do you like the beach?" she asked, hoping to engage him in conversation. Plankton's eye blinked slowly, his mind processing the question. "Beach," he echoed, his voice hollow. Hanna nodded, encouraged by his response. "Yes, the beach! It's such a beautiful place. Do you ever go there?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the memory of sand and surf a distant whisper. "Go, beach, beautiful place," he said, his words a stuttered echo of hers. Hanna's smile dimmed slightly. This wasn't the witty banter she was expecting from Karen's husband. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked, uncertain. Plankton's eye moved to hers, his gaze intense. "Talk," he repeated, his voice a whisper. Hanna felt a twinge of discomfort. Something was off about his responses, but she couldn't quite put her tentacle on what it was. "Well, what do you like to do for fun?" she tried again, her tone tentative. Plankton's eye wandered back to his own hand, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do, fun," he murmured, the words a reflexive response to the question. Hanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you do for fun?" she clarified, wondering if he had simply misunderstood. Plankton's gaze remained on his fidgeting hand, his mind racing to connect the concept of 'fun' with his new reality. "Do, fun," he repeated, his voice devoid of the mirth he once expressed so freely. Hanna's smile was now forced, her confusion growing with each interaction. "Plankton, can you tell me what you enjoy doing?" she asked, hoping for a clearer response. He looked up at her, his gaze slightly less focused than before. "Enjoy doing," he repeated, his voice a faint echo. Hanna's twitched with concern. "You know, like hobbies or interests," she prompted gently, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's eye moved back to his fidgeting hand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and sensory overload. "Hobbies, interests," he murmured, his voice a hollow echo. Hanna's concern was now clear on her screen. "You know, like things you like to do in your free time," she tried again, her voice a little less bright. Plankton's eye latched onto hers. "Free time," he repeated, his voice a monotone. "Like to do." Hanna's eyes widened slightly, her confusion growing with each word he said. "Yes, exactly," she nodded, her voice a little more cautious now. "What do you like to do in your free time? Well, other than repetition.." She awkwardly laughs as she elbows him multiple times, not knowing how her touch is irritating Plankton. Plankton's getting more frustrated/angry now, as Hanna goes to pat his shoulder. He can't take much more now. Hanna's touch was like a brand, searing his already overwhelmed senses. He flinched away, his body rigid with tension. "Plankton, are you ok?" Hanna asked, her voice filled with concern. She noticed his discomfort but couldn't pinpoint the cause. He nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "Ok, ok," he mumbled, his voice still a monotone. Hanna looked at him with concern, her smile slipping. "Karen said you used to be quite the conversationalist. What happened?" She says, grabbing his elbow; but that's the last straw for Plankton. Plankton's eye snapped up to hers, his voice sharp. "What happened? You happened!" He snapped, his words sharp as a knife. The sudden aggression in his tone was like a slap in the face, catching Hanna off guard. She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she began, but Plankton was on a roll now. "You don't know what happened!" his voice grew louder, his words quickening with each syllable. "You don't know anything!" Hanna's eyes went wide with shock. This was not the Plankton Karen had described. Her arms flailed in the air as she tried to placate his sudden anger. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I just didn't know..."

JUST A TOUCH iii (Autistic author) ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ Once home, she helped him settle into his favorite chair, his eye scanning the room. Everything was in its place, exactly as he liked it. Karen noticed his breathing slow as the familiarity washed over him. She knew that routine and order could be vital to his comfort now to avoid triggering his anxiety. Then suddenly, Plankton began to rock back and forth. Karen recognized the motion. It was a new behavior, one she hadn't seen before. His body swayed with a rhythm that matched the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We're home now." The rocking grew more intense, his eye darting around the room, his antennae vibrating with each back-and-forth movement. Karen's mind raced, trying to remember the doctor's words. Sensory overload. He needed calm. Swiftly, she dimmed the lights, the neon signs from the Krabby Patty franchise across the street casting soothing shadows through the windows. The glow was just enough to illuminate the space without causing further distress, and she watched as Plankton's rocking subsided. She sat by him. She grasped and squeezed his shoulder. But this time, he flinched. "Plankton?" she asked, concern etching her voice. He pulled away from her, his antennae dropping to his side. The doctor had mentioned that some with autism might have heightened sensitivity to touch. Karen felt a knot in her stomach. "What if he doesn't like me touching him anymore?" she thought. "What if I can't comfort him when he's upset?" She decided to test the waters gently. Reaching out, she lightly trailed her finger over his hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged, she placed her hand on his shoulder again, this time more softly. He tensed, then relaxed. It was progress. "Let's start with simple touch," she said, her voice soothing. The doctor had mentioned that Plankton might be hypersensitive to certain types of touch, and Karen was determined to navigate this new aspect of their relationship with care. She placed a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen." Her hand hovered over his, unsure of the best way to provide comfort. Karen took a deep breath, deciding to try again. This time, she approached with care, her touch feather-light, gliding over his hand like the softest of sea breezes. Plankton's antennae twitched, and his gaze remained on her hand, watching the movement as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Gradually, the tension in his body eased, and his hand lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative touch, his fingers brushing against hers, testing the waters. Karen felt a rush of relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand was cold, his grip firm but not painful. His eye locked onto hers, searching for reassurance. Slowly, she began to stroke his hand with her thumb, applying the slightest pressure. His breathing evened out, his antennae rising slightly. Encouraged, she tried a different type of touch—a gentle squeeze. This time, he didn't flinch. Instead, his hand returned the gesture, his own grip matching hers in strength. Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Maybe we can find a way through this," she thought. They sat in silence for a few moments, their hands entwined, as Karen tried to think of the next step. The doctor's words echoed in her mind: find what works for him. Gently, she began to rub his hand, her thumb moving in small, soothing circles. Plankton seemed to find comfort in the predictable pattern, his body unwinding a fraction more. Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer, her other hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. But as soon as her hand made contact with his skin, he jerked away, his eye flashing with fear and pain. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her heart racing. "I didn't mean to scare you." Plankton stared at her, his expression unreadable. "It's just, sometimes touch feels..." His words trailed off, and Karen felt her own fear rising. "Painful?" she guessed, her voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Some touches are okay, others..." He paused, his eye darting to his hand, which was still wrapped around hers. "It's confusing." Karen nodded, her heart aching for him. She knew she had to be more mindful of his sensory needs. Carefully, she pats his cheek with the back of her hand, the lightest of touches. Plankton's antennae flinched, but he didn't pull away until she put both of her hands on his shoulders. The sudden pressure was too much, like an electric shock. "Karen," he said, his voice tight with discomfort, "too much." Karen nodded, her hands retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching hers. "It's okay, Karen," he said, his voice measured. "But some touches are too much." Karen nodded, her heart heavy. She had so much to learn about this new Plankton, this person she knew so well yet barely knew at all. "I'll be more careful," she promised, squeezing his hand gently. Plankton's gaze remained steady on hers, his expression neutral. "Thank you, Karen," he said, giving her a side hug. This was a Plankton she had never seen before, one who spoke in a staccato rhythm, his movements precise and calculated. Yet, in the safety of their home, Karen saw glimpses of the man she knew. Her eyes fell upon a pamphlet the doctor had given her, titled 'Understanding Neurodivergence'. She picked it up and began to read. The first few pages were dedicated to explaining what it meant to be neurodivergent, how it wasn't an illness but a natural variation in the brain. Plankton's new condition, Acquired Autism, was one of the many spectrums that fell under this umbrella. Karen read through the descriptions of different behaviors, her eyes widening as she recognized some of the changes in Plankton— his need for order, his heightened sensitivity to stimuli, and his newfound obsessions. The pamphlet explained that these were common in individuals with his condition and offered optional suggestions for supporting them. Her gaze fell upon a section titled 'Seizure Protocols'. Karen's eyes widened as she read about the different types of seizures that could occur due to neurodivergence. Some were minor, like staring spells, while others could be more severe. Her heart raced as she thought of Plankton, his body stiffening and shaking. The pamphlet recommended to keep any sharp or harmful objects away from him. It was important not to restrain him, but instead, to gently guide him to the floor if necessary. The next section discussed how to communicate with someone on the spectrum. It suggested using clear, direct language, avoiding sarcasm and idioms. Karen realized that she would have to learn a new way of speaking with Plankton. Her screen skimmed over the pages, absorbing the information like a sponge. The pamphlet highlighted the importance of individuality and diversity, emphasizing that Plankton's brain was not broken, but simply wired differently. This was a concept she had heard of before, but it had never hit so close to home. The causes of neurodisability varied widely, from genetics to congenital to trauma. One paragraph caught her attention—brain injuries could lead to conditions like Acquired Autism. The words swirled in her mind, a stark reminder of the wrench that had changed everything. As Karen read on, she learned about the complex interplay of biological factors and life experiences that can shape a person's neurodivergence. It was both overwhelming and fascinating, a glimpse into a world she had never truly understood.

CHIP AND FAIL viii (Autistic author) Karen's hand was a lifeline, her voice a gentle guide. "Chip," she called out. "We need to talk." Chip stopped in the hallway. Why was Dad acting so weird? He turned to face his mother, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded, his voice filled with accusation. "He doesn't deserve to be called my dad if he can't even..." But that's when it happens. That's when Plankton started hyperventilating, and that's when Plankton can't take anymore. That's when it happened. Chip's words were like a match striking too close to a powder keg. Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae twitching erratically. Karen rushed to his side, her screen wide with concern. "Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. She holds her arms out to catch Plankton. But Plankton's mind was a whirlwind, his body a live wire. He couldn't answer, couldn't find the words to explain the chaos that was his reality. His antennae trembled as he struggled to breathe, his body rigid with fear. He had hoped to keep this hidden, to protect Chip from the truth, but it was too much. The storm inside him grew wilder, each breath a battle. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his own confusion mirroring the chaos in the room. "What's wrong with you?" he repeated, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. But Plankton's mind was a tornado, his thoughts swirling too fast for words. He could feel his chest constrict, his heart pounding like a drum. Karen watched her son's screen, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the misunderstanding etched deep. She took a deep breath, knowing the moment had arrived. "Chip," she began, her voice soft but firm, "there's something you need to know about your dad." Chip looked at her, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "What could possibly make him act like this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why did you marry him? He's just nothing but..." "Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his hands in hers, when Plankton starts to wheeze heavily, his body constricting with each shallow breath. Chip's anger faded, replaced with fear as he watched his father's distress. "Dad?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's body trembled as his legs gave out, collapsing into the embrace Karen had been ready to offer. "Dad?" Chip's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He had never seen his father so overwhelmed, so vulnerable. Karen knelt beside Plankton, her hands gentle on his trembling body. "It's okay, love," she whispered, her voice a salve on his raw nerves. "Just breathe." Chip's eyes were glued to his father with fear. He had never seen him like this before, his body a stranger's under his own touch. "What's wrong with him?" he asked again, his voice shaking. Karen took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she smoothed back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your dad was born with something..." Her voice trailed off, the words stuck in her throat like a piece of unchewed food. Chip's eyes searched hers, his confusion a storm cloud gathering. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice small and scared. Karen took a deep breath, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Your dad," she began, her voice shaking with the weight of her words, "was born different, Chip." Plankton's eye flickered open, filled with a mixture of fear and hope. "What do you mean, 'different'?" Chip asked, his voice small and scared. He had never heard his mother talk about his dad this way before. Karen took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat. "When your dad was born, Chip," she began, her screen filled with a sadness that threatened to spill over, "his brain was injured during delivery. When the doctors pulled him out, they didn't realize how fragile he was and they..." Her voice trailed off, the memory too painful to recount. "They had to get him out and applied too much force on his head, which caused some damage. It gave him a type of condition, where he's on what's called autism spectrum." Chip's eyes widened, his grip on his shirt tightening. "But that's not his fault, right?" he asked, his voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't want to think of his dad as damaged or broken. Karen nodded, her screen filled with love for both her husband and her son. "No, honey, it's not his fault," she said, her voice steady. "It's just how he's. And it's not something you can see or touch. It's like having a radio in your head that's always tuned to the loudest station, and sometimes the static gets too much."

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii (Autistic author) Karen picked him up, and carried his limp form to his bed. She stood there for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. The snores grew quieter as sleep consumed him. The weight of what had just happened settled on her shoulders. Karen lay him down gently. She tucked him in, his antennae resting against the pillow. The room was quiet except for his soft snores, a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled it moments before. Karen sat by his side, her hand on his arm. After a few moments, she stood up and walked to the door, closing it gently behind her. She found Hanna in the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and worried. "Hanna, I need to talk to you," Karen said, her voice firm but not accusing. Hanna looked up, her expression hopeful for guidance. Karen sat beside her, her eyes on her own hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's been through a lot," she began, her voice measured. "He's different now." Hanna nodded, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. "Still coming to terms with it but you're just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine." "I guess I'll head out. I never meant to cause Plankton distress." Karen nodded, her eyes still on her fidgeting hands. "Thank you for understanding. I'm pretty sure he knows you didn't mean to, but I can still tell him when he wakes up." Hanna left, and Karen went back to the bedroom. Plankton was still asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful. Karen sat by the bed. Plankton's snores were the only sound in the room, a gentle reminder of the peace that sleep brought him from his tumultuous world of heightened senses. Karen took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. This was their new normal, a dance of understanding and patience they would have to learn. When Plankton next woke up, his eye searched the room, his antennae twitching slightly. He looked over to find Karen sitting in a chair beside the bed, her gaze on him. "Hi," she said, her voice gentle. He sat up slowly, the fabric of the bed rustling beneath his weight. "How are you feeling?" Karen's concern was palpable, her eyes scanning his face for any signs of distress. Plankton took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. Karen's presence was a balm to his soul, her understanding a lifeline in the storm of sensory input. "Where's Hanna?" Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving his face. "She left, sweetie. You were a bit...overwhelmed." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with the memory of the sensory assault. "It's okay," Karen assured him, her voice a soft whisper. "She just didn't understand, and felt bad for the way she treated you." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos from before. He took a moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Karen reached out and took his hand, her grip firm but gentle. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said, her tone soothing. "This is all new to us. Would you like to eat?" Plankton nodded. "I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen said, standing up. She knew that too much stimulation could send him spiraling. In the kitchen, she prepared a snack of plain crackers. She placed the plate on the table carefully, not wanting to startle his heightened senses again. Plankton entered the room, his movements deliberate and slow. He sat down across from her, his eye darting around the room. "It's ok," Karen reassured him, handing him the plate of crackers. "Just food." "Just food. It's ok; just food." He repeats back to himself, focusing on the plate. Each cracker was a tiny square of safety, a familiar comfort in a sea of sensory uncertainty. He took a deep breath and selected one. The taste was comforting, a reminder of a simpler time. Karen watched him, her screen filled with love. Plankton took a sip of water, his eye never leaving hers. "It's ok just food," he said again, his voice still low. "Karen good and good food. It's ok." Karen nodded, her smile a mix of relief and sadness. She knew his echolalic tendencies was the autism, but she's glad he likes the food as well. They sat in silence, the only sound the crunch of crackers and the occasional sip of water. Plankton's eye focused on the cracker in his hand, the patterns on the surface a comfort. His autistic brain craved the predictability, the sameness that calmed his nerves. This was the man she knew, yet he was different. The Plankton who was always plotting and scheming was now one who found comfort in the mundane. His mind felt clearer now, the overwhelming chaos of the earlier encounter with Hanna beginning to fade. Karen watched him, her heart breaking for the silent struggle she knew he faced every moment. "I'll talk to Hanna," she said gently. "I'll explain. What do you want me to tell her? What'd you like for her to know?" Plankton's gaze remained on the cracker, his thumb tracing the edge. "Tell her sorry," he mumbled. "What else? I mean, is it ok if I tell her you're autistic now? Or what about the accident that lead to the autism?" Plankton's antennae twitched at the word 'accident', his mind reeling with memories of the stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs, the pain. But he nodded slowly. "Ok," he murmured. Karen's heart ached at the simplicity of his response. The complexity of his thoughts was now a tightly guarded secret, hidden behind a wall of sensory overload. "Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice soft. "But remember, it's ok to be different." Plankton nodded, his eye still on his food. But as he took another cracker, he paused. He looked up, his gaze locking with hers. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I, I l-love you." Karen's eyes widened at the sudden declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you too." Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "Karen making everything okay," he murmured. He took another cracker, his hands shaking slightly. "You make Plankton feel safe," he continues with sincerity. "In a world that's too much, Karen not too much." Karen's eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt words. She reached across the table and took his hand. "Plankton, I'm here for you. Always." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. He looked into her screen, his own filled with a depth of emotion that hadn't seen before. "You good, Karen," he said, his voice steady. "Helping Plankton." Plankton was finding his way to express himself, to connect with her in a way that was meaningful. She squeezed his hand. "I'll always help you," she promised. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice tentative. He took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "I love you, Karen," he said finally, his eye intense with feeling. Karen swelled with love and pride. Despite his struggles, Plankton was learning to express his emotions in a way that made sense to him. It was a victory, small but significant. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, squeezing his hand. "Your love makes me happy." His antennae twitched slightly, a sign of his awkwardness with the emotional exchange. The room was quiet, the only noise the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional crunch of a cracker. Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for reassurance. "Plankton need...space," he managed, his voice shaky. "Too...much emotional interaction. Still love." Karen nodded, understanding dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said, releasing his hand. "I'll be right here. Take all the time you need."

CHIP AND FAIL iii (Autistic author) "Ok Dad," he said. "Let's go to your workshop." Maybe there, he would be able to come back to himself. But Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's efforts to get him up. "Come on," he said, his voice gentle, trying to mask his own fear. "Let's go." But he sees it's not gonna work. He hadn't realized that his excited touches and loud laughter were only making things worse. Plankton's condition meant that even the smallest disruption could send him spiraling, and here Chip was, bombarding him with sensations. With a tremble in his voice, Chip tried one more time to reach his father. "Dad, can you just come with me?" He asked, his voice small and hopeful. "We'll talk in the workshop." But Plankton still didn't move, his eye fixed on some unseen horizon. Chip stood up, wiping the tears from his screen, trying to listen for his dad's breathing. Chip doesn't like this. Chip's face crumpled, realizing that his dad isn't okay. This was chilling. The more Chip talked, the more he touched, the deeper Plankton's mind spun into a vortex of overstimulation. "Dad, you're not talking," Chip whispered, his voice cracking with concern. He had never seen his father like this, so silent and still. He didn't know that the affectionate gestures and loud stories were only adding to Plankton's distress. "Dad, please," Chip said, his voice small. This wasn't right. This is wrong. Something is very wrong with his dad. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his mind racing with fear and confusion. Something's wrong with his dad. "Dad, you're not okay," Chip said, his voice filled with a new urgency. But now, he knew it was something more, something he didn't know how to fix. But he needs to try. "Can you tell me about your week too?" Absolutely no sign of life from him. This is bad. He's getting worse... Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of response was due to his autism, that his sensory system was in overdrive. All he knew was that he needed to help, to do something. With a tremble in his hands, Chip gently touched Plankton's shoulder. "Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice soft and soothing, hoping to cut through the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's expression remained unchanged, his eye unfocused. Chip felt like he was shouting into a void, his words disappearing without a trace. The room was spinning, the air thinning with each shallow breath Plankton took. Chip's mind raced with scenarios, trying to piece together what could've caused this sudden change. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, his voice quavering. "Did something happen?" But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's excitement echoing through his overstimulated brain like a never- ending nightmare. Chip's touches grew gentler, his laughter fading into a soft concern. "I don't get it," he said, his voice thick with confusion. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." Plankton felt the pressure but his mind was a maelstrom of sensation. "Dad," Chip said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what's going on." He nudged him, and he remained still and unblinking as the prod toppled him onto his side, with no reaction. The room felt colder, the air heavier with each passing second. He had never seen his father so unresponsive, so utterly lost to the world around him. "Dad," he tried again, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." Plankton's eye remained fixed. The gentle touches from Chip were now a maelstrom of sensation, each one a wave crashing against the shore of his overwhelmed mind. Chip's smile faded as he watched his father. "Dad, you're not okay," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. He didn't know about Plankton's condition, how his brain processed stimuli differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. All he knew was that his dad, the man he looked up to, was trapped in a silent prison of his own making.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iv (Autistic author) Without missing a beat, Plankton starts rattling off a stream of facts. "Jellyfish are invertebrates," he says, his voice gaining speed and confidence. "They have no bones, no brains, but they have stinging cells called nematocysts." "Wow, Plankton, that's amazing," Sponge Bob says, eyes wide with wonder. "I didn't know that!" "Neither did I," Karen admits, a small smile playing. "You've always had a knack for science, but this is something else." Plankton nods, his excitement palpable. "Jellyfish have life cycle," he continues, his voice taking on the rhythm of a lecturer. "Start as polyps, then grow into medusae." Plankton's antennae twitch as he recites facts rapidly. "Jellyfish can have hundreds of stinging tentacles," he says, his voice gaining momentum. "And some species can even clone themselves. It's called strobilation!" he says, his eye glued to the book. His voice is monotone, but the enthusiasm is clear as he shares his newfound knowledge. "That's so cool, Plankton!" Sponge Bob exclaims. "I had no idea!" Plankton nods. "Jellyfish book," he says again, his voice still a monotone, but his tone is less flat. Karen and Sponge Bob share a hopeful look. Plankton's intense focus on jellyfish seems to be providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos of his new reality. "I think Plankton might just become the smartest jellyfish expert in Bikini Bottom," Karen says trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe one day we can go jellyfishing together," Sponge Bob says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods, his gaze flicking to Sponge Bob before returning to the book. "Jellyfishing," he repeats. "But Plankton, remember jellyfishing can be dangerous if they sting" Karen says gently with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch. "Dangerous," he repeats, his eye still on the book. "Jellyfish sting, but Plankton have plan." He flips through the pages, stopping at an image of a jellyfish in a jar. "Jellyfish in jar," he says, tapping the picture. "Safe jellyfish." Karen and Sponge Bob exchange a look. "You wanna keep jellyfish in a jar, Plankton?" Sponge Bob asks, voice tentative. Plankton nods vigorously. "Jellyfish in jar, safe jellyfish," he says, his excitement palpable. Sponge Bob leans closer to the book, his curiosity piqued. "What else does the book say, Plankton?" Plankton starts reading off the index and page numbers, his voice a monotone yet steady stream of information. "Jellyfish page 12. Nematocysts, page 34. Jellyfish reproduction, page 67," he recites, his antennae twitching with each number. Sponge Bob leans in closer, fascinated by Plankton's sudden wealth of knowledge. "How do you remember all of that?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Good memory," he says, his voice still flat but with a hint of pride. "Plankton read book." Karen nods, her gaze soft. "Yes, you read the book," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "You've learned so much about jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement as he flips through the pages. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his gaze alight with a passion that Karen hadn't seen in him since before the accident. "You know, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, leaning closer to the book. "Maybe we could start a jellyfish club. Just you, me, and Karen. We could learn all about them together." Plankton's antennae stand at attention at the idea. "Jellyfish club," he repeats, his voice a mix of excitement and skepticism. "With Karen and Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says with a smile, her voice filled with hope. Plankton nods, his antennae moving with the rhythm of his thoughts. "Jellyfish club," he murmurs, the words rolling around in his head like a treasure found at the bottom of the sea. "Yea Plankton who knew, easy as pie!" "Pie?" he repeated, the word echoing in the room. "Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..." His voice grew in confidence as he recited the digits, his eye glazing over as he fell into a rhythm that seemed almost meditative. Karen and Sponge Bob stared at him in amazement as he rattled off the numbers, his monotone delivery a stark contrast to the awe in their expressions. "Plankton, that's incredible!" Karen exclaimed with astonishment. "Pi, yes," Plankton said unwavering. "Circle's ratio." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "How?" "Pi," Plankton began, his antennae quivering slightly as he found his rhythm. "The ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. 3.14159265358979323846..." He recited the digits as if they were the most natural thing in the world, his voice steady and unwavering. Karen and Sponge Bob watched in amazement as Plankton's eye took on a faraway look, his focus solely on the mathematical constant that held the secrets of the universe's geometry. Karen couldn't help but smile at the sight of Plankton's newfound passion. "It's incredible how you can remember all of that," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "Remember pi," Plankton said, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Easy for Plankton." "Wow, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his eyes sparkling with amazement. "You're a math genius!" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the compliment.

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii (Autistic author) Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as he takes a step closer to Plankton. "What don't I know?" he asks, his voice sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..." But his words are cut off by the sight of Plankton, his antennae drooping, his eye brimming with tears. The tiny creature's body trembles as Kevin's to loud words settle upon him, and suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain come rushing out in a torrent as a single tear forms and slides down his face. Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and he squeaks out a sob, his tiny body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words. SpongeBob is shocked. Kevin's words hang in the water, his laughter fading into an awkward silence as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea cucumber's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his own expression morphing from smug to surprise, then to something akin to fear. "Plankton?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, trying to compose himself, his monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... brainless," he murmurs, his one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he adds, his voice cracking, "Plankton... not like jellyfish." Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's hurtful words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye glistening with tears. "Plankton... brainless. Like jellyfish." Kevin's expression morphs from smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... you know, a joke." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... brainless." Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in horror as he sees the pain etched on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, his voice cracking. "It was just a... I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no purpose in life," he murmurs, his one eye filled with a sadness so profound it seems to suck the color out of the surrounding waters. Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton," he says gently, "you have friends. You have a purpose." But Plankton's antennae droop even lower, his monotone voice a sad echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.." Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced with a flicker of concern as he watches the usually unflappable Plankton crumple under the weight of his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching out to touch him. But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering with pain. "Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of surprise and regret, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just messing around." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye fixed. "Brainless." Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with a tenderness Plankton rarely hears from anyone. "You're not brainless." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," he murmurs, his one eye unable to meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish." SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession with jellyfish is more than just a hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of who he is after the traumatic brain injury. And now, Kevin's careless words have struck a nerve, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, "you're not like that. You're smart. You're... you're you." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye still avoiding contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish." SpongeBob understood that the brain trauma has affected him, making him more vulnerable to words that question his intelligence and identity due to his autism. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern, "you know that's not true. You're not like jellyfish in that way." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he murmurs. "Mindless, brainless." Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, reaching out to offer comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," he says, his voice gentle and assuring. "You're brilliant. You know more about jellyfish than anyone." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," he murmurs, eye downcast. "Plankton... brainless." Sponge Bob tries to find the right words to say. "Plankton," he says gently, "you're not like that. You're so much more than what Kevin said." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's gaze. "Plankton... no purpose." Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. "You guys are acting weird." Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed on Plankton, "you don't know what happened to Plankton." Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. "What do you mean?" Kevin's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with confusion. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. "Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton had a bad accident. He hit his head, and now he's... different." Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his smugness evaporating. "What do you mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a brain injury," he says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. "He's... autistic now." Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "What? No way," he stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... you're joking, right?" But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, gently stroking Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's had a tough time, and he's different now." "Plankton, joke." Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... but why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his voice trembling. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "We didn't think it was anyone's business," he says tightening around Plankton's shaking antennae. "But now you know Kevin. And we need you to be cool about it."

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix (Autistic author) With newfound enthusiasm, Plankton began to organize the mini jellyfish in the box, his antennae quivering as he meticulously arranged them by species and size. Each figurine was carefully placed, his movements deliberate and precise. "Jellyfish... special," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of wonder. Sandy watched, her eyes shining with admiration. "You're really good at this," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Good at jellyfish," Plankton murmured, antennae waving slightly with pride. "Plankton's special place." Sandy nodded, her tail swishing with excitement. "Yes," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "You have a special place in the world, Plankton, and jellyfish are your thing." As Plankton continued to organize his new collection, his movements grew more animated, his antennae quivering with purpose. Each jellyfish was placed with such precision that it was as if they were living beings in a miniature ocean. His eye never left his task, his mind fully engrossed in the world of jellyfish. It was as if by organizing them, he was somehow bringing order to his own chaotic thoughts. "Plankton," Karen said softly, "I know this is a big change for you. But you know what? Maybe this is your chance to do something amazing with your life." Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "Let's go outside." Plankton looked up from his box, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Outside?" "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her smile warm. They made their way outside, with Plankton carrying his precious box of jellyfish figurines, his antennae quivering with excitement at the prospect of sharing his knowledge. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over Bikini Bottom as the trio strolled down the sidewalk. Their peaceful evening was abruptly interrupted when they rounded the corner to find Mr. Krabs, his eyes wide with surprise at the sight of Plankton in the company of Karen and Sandy. "What's all this?" he barked, voice gruff. Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, but he held his ground, his box of jellyfish figurines clutched tightly. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, monotone voice cracking. Mr. Krabs squinted at Plankton, his claw resting on his chin. "Well, if it isn't the little troublemaker," he said with a gruff chuckle. "What brings you out of the Chum Bucket?" Karen's forced a smile. "We're just out for a little stroll Krabs," she said. "Plankton's found a new hobby." Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued by the unusual sight of Plankton engaged in something other than his usual Krabby Patty obsession. "What kind of hobby?" he asks. Plankton's antennae quivered as he held up his box of jellyfish figurines. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of pride. Mr. Krabs's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "What's gotten into you, Plankton? You're not planning to use them for some crazy Krabby Patty scheme are you?" Plankton's antennae twitched, but he remained calm. "No, Mr. Krabs," he murmured, voice firm. "Plankton loves jellyfish." Mr. Krabs squinted at him, his claw tapping against his chin as he tried to process this new piece of information. "You love jellyfish?" he said, his voice filled with skepticism. "What's so special about jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae waved slightly as he thought about how to explain it. "Jellyfish... unique," he murmured. "Different. Like Plankton." Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed. "Different, you say?" he repeated, his claw stroking his chin as he contemplated this revelation. "Well I'll be a barnacle's uncle. I never knew you had an interest in any thing but stealing me secret recipe." Karen stepped forward, her tentacles waving gently. "Mr. Krabs, when Plankton hit his head because of you and when I took him to the hospital, well let's just say things are a little different now." Mr. Krabs's eyes widened, his claw freezing mid-stroke. "Different? What do you mean, different?" Karen's tentacles waved in a calming gesture. "Plankton was diagnosed with autism after the incident with your cash register," she said gently. Mr. Krabs's eyes bulged, and his claws clutched at his chest dramatically. "Autism? What?" he bellowed. Sandy stepped forward, her voice firm and steady. "It's ok, Mr. Krabs," she said, her eyes on the crab. "It just means Plankton's brain works differently than ours. But he's still the same Plankton we know, and he's found something that makes him really happy." Mr. Krabs's eyes darting between Plankton and his box of jellyfish. "Well, I'll be a sea cucumber's uncle," he murmured, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. As they talked, a group of kids playing catch nearby accidentally bumped into Plankton, their laughter and shouts of excitement cutting through the air. In an instant, the delicate balance of jellyfish figurines was disrupted, and they spilled out of the box, scattered across the sidewalk. The children's ball rolled into the mix, coming to a stop. Plankton froze on the ground, antennae shooting straight up, eye unblinking as he stared at the chaos before him. The children looked up, their laughter fading as they took in the scene. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was gentle, but it was lost, mind racing as he tried to make sense of the sudden disarray. The children stared, their laughter dying in their throats as they saw the tiny plankton's distress. One brave soul reached out to help, but pulled back when Plankton didn't react. Karen and Sandy exchanged a worried glance. "Plankton?" Karen called again, her voice a little louder this time. The children watched, their curiosity piqued by the sight. One by one, they cautiously approached, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. "What's wrong with him?" a young fish whispered to another, their eyes darting from Plankton to the scattered jellyfish figurines. "I think he's in shock," Krabs murmured, his own eyes filled with concern. "The disorganization of his jellyfish is really bothering him.." Sandy nodded, her eyes on the children. "Why don't you guys help Plankton?" she suggested. "You can put the jellyfish back in the box. Let's all put them back the way he had them!" The children looked at each other, then back at Plankton, who was still frozen on the ground. Slowly, they began to pick up the scattered figurines, their little hands moving with care as they tried to mimic the order Plankton had created. They whispered to each other, comparing notes and asking questions, their curiosity overcoming their initial fear. Karen watched them work, her tentacles relaxing slightly as she saw the concern in their eyes. "Good job," she murmured, her voice gentle. "You're all helping out." The children nodded, their eyes never leaving Plankton as they carefully placed each jellyfish back in the box. They worked in silence, their movements a mix of awe and caution. The sight of Plankton's intense focus on his jellyfish had left an impression on them, and they were determined to help him restore order to his miniature world. One by one, the jellyfish returned to their spots, each figure a silent testament to Plankton's knowledge and passion. The children looked at each other, then back at Plankton, who hadn't moved a muscle, still rigid, his eye unblinking. "Is he okay?" the bravest one asked, holding out a tentative fin. Plankton remained unmoving, his antennae quivering slightly. The children's gentle whispers and the soft patter of their flippers on the pavement was the only sound as they worked. The last jellyfish was placed back into the box, the figure of Burgessomedusa phasmiformis nestling into its spot among the others. The children held their breath, waiting for some sign from Plankton that he noticed their efforts. Slowly, Plankton's antennae lowered, and he blinked once, then twice. He looked down into the box, his eyes scanning the neat rows of jellyfish. The children watched as a slight smile graced his lips, and he let out a sigh of relief. The children beamed, their eyes shining with pride, stepping back to give him space. Mr. Krabs, still looking slightly stunned, took a tentative step forward. "Plankton?" he asked, his voice gruff but concerned. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he looked up, his one eye focusing on the crab. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice still present but with a hint of warmth. Mr. Krabs's claw hovered over the box, unsure of what to say. "I had no idea Plankton," he murmured, his eyes on the meticulously organized jellyfish. "It's ok," Plankton said, his monotone voice tinged with sadness. "Mr. Krabs didn't know." Karen stepped in gently. "Krabs is just surprised," she explained. "He's never seen you like this before." Mr. Krabs nodded, his expression softening slightly. "That's right," he said, his voice no longer filled with anger. "I've never seen you so... focused on something other than Krabby Patties." "Jellyfish special," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly. "I didn't mean to cause you brain damage, Plankton.." Mr. Krabs says. "It's okay," Plankton murmured, his antennae twitching slightly.

THE LIFE OF UNITY iv (Autistic author) Kevin's smirk is long gone, replaced by a look of shock and regret. "I... I had no idea," he stammers. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know." Plankton's antennae quiver. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you hurt Plankton." Sponge Bob's protectively around Plankton, who is now visibly upset. "You hurt Plankton's feelings," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "You see, Plankton had an accident. He's not the same as before. He nearly broke his skull on a cash register at the Krusty Krab. It changed him." Kevin's expression shifts from shock to disbelief. "What do you mean, 'changed him'?" he asks, his tentacles quivering slightly. "He has autism now," Sponge Bob says simply, never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "It's ok, Plankton," he murmurs, tightening around the tiny plankton. "You're still you." Kevin's eyes widen, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Oh my...," he whispers, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "I had no idea." Plankton's voice filled with accusation. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you didn't know. You didn't care." Kevin's eyes are wide. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's cutting off Kevin's apology. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye flashing with pain. "Kevin not care." "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to be so cruel." But Plankton's unyielding. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye still brimming with unshed tears. "You didn't know. You no care." Kevin's smugness evaporates as the weight of his own words crashes down on him. The realization that his careless jests have caused such pain is written all over his face. His eyes are wide with horror, his tentacles trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispers, starting to touch Plankton. But Plankton recoils at the touch, his antennae quivering violently, his monotone voice filled with panic. "NO!" he squeaks, his one eye wide with fear. "Kevin, no touch!" Kevin's tentacles jerk back as if burned, his eyes filled with shock and remorse. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, his voice thick with regret. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to..." "Kevin, no touch," he repeats, his one eye flashing. "Plankton not like that." "I didn't know," he whispers, his eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'm so sorry." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the fear he feels. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye fixed on the sea cucumber, "you didn't know. You don't care." Sponge Bob's placing himself between Plankton and the sea cucumber. "Kevin," he says firmly with a newfound resolve. "You need to apologize to Plankton. What you said was not okay." Kevin's tentacles quiver, his eyes darting from Sponge Bob to Plankton's trembling form. "I'm... I'm sorry," he stammers, his smugness replaced by genuine contrition. "I didn't know. I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice still echoing the pain of the insult. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye narrowed, "you hurt Plankton." Kevin's expression falls, the full impact of his words hitting him like a brick wall. He takes a step back, his tentacles drooping. "I didn't know," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had... you know." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and pain. "Kevin," he murmurs, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin hurt Plankton. Not funny." Kevin's tentacles twitch, his expression a mix of shock and discomfort. "Look, I didn't know," he says, his voice quivering. "I'm sorry. I just..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice cutting through the awkward silence. "Space," he murmurs, his one eye pleading. Kevin creeps up closer. "Space? What..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and fear, his monotone voice a sad echo of the pain Kevin's words have caused. "Plankton," he murmurs, his one eye wide with desperation. "Alone." Kevin still doesn't understand. "You're not alone," he starts, reaching out. But Plankton's antennae quiver more fiercely, his monotone voice filled with a rare urgency. "No," he murmurs, his one eye darting around. "Space." "I don't underst--" But Plankton's filled with a desperation Kevin had never heard before. "Space," he murmurs again, more forcefully this time. "Kevin, go." "Go to outer space? But..." "Space," Plankton repeats more insistently, his eye frantic. Kevin's with confusion. "But, Plankton we're in the middle of the jellyfish fields." But Plankton's antennae quiver with urgency, his monotone voice unwavering. "Space," he murmurs, his one eye pleading. "Now." "I don't..." Kevin starts, grabbing Plankton's hand. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, and he pulls away, his monotone voice rising. "SPACE!" he shouts, his eye flashing with fury. Startled, Kevin takes a step back. "Where in outer space?" But Plankton's antennae quiver with impatience, his monotone voice tight. "Any space," he cries. "Just go." Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness forgotten. "But... but what about the jellyfish? Oh do you mean any planet.." He says, absent mindedly putting his hand on Plankton's back. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, and he jumps away. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, his monotone voice cracking with emotion. "PLANKTON. NEED. SPACE!" Kevin's tentacles recoil as if stung, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," he stammers, taking a step back. "I can't fly a rocket to space.." But Plankton's antennae quiver with rage. "Any space," he repeats, his one eye glaring. "Away." Kevin's tentacles hang limp, his smugness shattered by the depth of Plankton's pain. "But, Plankton, we can't leave Earth without..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with fury, his monotone voice a whip crack. "Any space," he repeats, his one eye narrowed. "Now." Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness gone. "Any planet other than Earth? I'd like to help but..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration, his monotone voice cutting through the confusion. "Not space," he murmurs, his one eye blazing with anger. "Space." Kevin's tentacles tremble, his smile fading into a look of fear. "I can't get outer space without a rocket?" he says, taking a step back. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone voice a thunderclap in the stillness. "No rocket," he murmurs, his one eye flashing. "Space. Now." Kevin's tentacles quiver, his smugness replaced by fear. "But Plankton," he stammers, taking a step back, "we can't just go to space without..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with rage, his monotone voice a whip crack. "Space," he repeats, his one eye narrowed. "Now." Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look of pure terror. "But Plankton, I can't just leave the sea," he says, his voice shaking. But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and desperation, his monotone voice a thunderclap in the quiet waters. "Space," he repeats unwavering. Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look of fear as he tries to comprehend Plankton's words. "But Plankton," he stammers, "you can't survive in space. It's not possible." But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone voice a monotone shout. "Space," he repeats, his one eye flashing with desperation. "Away from here." Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness dissolving in to confusion. "But Plankton, we're in the middle of jellyfish fields," he says, his voice trembling. "We can't just..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and desperation, his monotone voice a monotone shout. "SPACE!" he repeats, his one eye flashing. "Kevin go now!" Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness dissipating like smoke in the face of Plankton's distress. "But Plankton I don't..." he starts, taking a cautious step back. Plankton breathes in and gathers his words together, his antennae quivering with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Kevin JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouts, his monotone voice crackling with anger. Kevin's tentacles quiver in understanding, his smugness evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh," he says, his voice small and sad. "You mean personal space.." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his monotone voice softening. "Yes," he murmurs, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Space." Sponge Bob nods. "Okay, Kevin," he says firmly. "You need to give Plankton some space right now. He's going through a tough time." Kevin's smugness is completely gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern. He takes a step back. "I had no idea," he whispers. "I'm really sorry. I'll go. Bye."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vii (Autistic author) He starts to rock back and forth, his single eye squeezed shut as he tries to cope with the sudden change in his environment. Mr. Krabs' confusion deepens, his claws scratching his head in bemusement. "What's gotten into you, Plankton?" he says. But Plankton can't stop. His rocking intensifies, his whispered mantra becoming more desperate. "Fish, fish, fish," he repeats, his voice rising slightly with each iteration. Mr. Krabs stares at Plankton, his confusion turning. "Plankton, you ok?" he asks. But Plankton is lost in his own world, his stimming a way to self-regulate. His antennas wave back and forth in a soothing rhythm, his body rocking slightly as he murmurs "fish, fish, fish." Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend, his own hands clenching into fists at his side. He understands now that Plankton's behavior isn't a game, it's a coping mechanism, a way to navigate through the chaos in his head. "Plankton, it's ok," Sponge Bob says soothingly, approaching his friend. He gently picks up one of the fallen chess pieces, a knight, and holds it out to him. "Do you want to play again?" Plankton's antennas cease their frantic motion, his eye focusing on the knight. He takes it, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings, his breathing steadying. "Fish," he says, his voice calmer. Sponge Bob watches his friend carefully, his heart breaking at the sight of his distress. He understands now that Plankton's repetition is not just a strange behavior, but a way to cope with his new reality. Mr. Krabs, still confused, watches as Plankton's tracing the lines of the chessboard. "What are ye doing?" he asks, his voice annoyed. Sponge Bob's eyes meet Plankton's, and he sees the desperation in his friend's eye. "Mr. Krabs, Plankton's just... trying to remember how to play," he lies gently. Mr. Krabs grumbles but doesn't argue. Sponge Bob takes this moment to sit next to Plankton, placing his hand on his shoulder. "It's ok," he whispers. "We'll play again when you're ready." Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye dilating slightly as he nods. He clutches the knight tightly, his thumb stroking its smooth surface. It's a familiar comfort, something from before the accident, before the world became a confusing cacophony of sounds and sights. As the moments pass, Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the chessboard, the pattern of the squares providing a comforting visual stimulation. Sponge Bob notices the subtle change in his friend's demeanor, the tension easing from his tiny body. "Fish," Plankton murmurs again, but this time with less urgency. He carefully sets the knight back down on the board, his hand hovering above it. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection, and he knows that despite the confusion and fear in Plankton's eye, his friend is trying. Mr. Krabs, however, is far from convinced, his eyes narrowing. "If this is how you're going to be, I'm not playing," he declares, crossing his arms over his chest. But Plankton's antennas perk up slightly, his interest piqued by the challenge. He picks up the knight again, his thumb caressing the piece. "Fish," he whispers, his gaze flicking to Sponge Bob and then back to the board. It's a plea. Sponge Bob nods, his face a picture of solemn reassurance. "It's ok," he repeats. "Just..." "What's wrong with you, Plankton?" Mr. Krabs exclaims. Plankton's antennas droop, and he looks down at his cards again. He doesn't know how to explain his condition to Mr. Krabs, who's always so dismissive of him. He feels a pang of desperation, racing to find a way to bridge understanding. Then, it hits him. With trembling hands, Plankton mimics Mr. Krabs' crossed arms, his voice a poor imitation. "What's wrong with you, Plankton," he repeats firmly. Mr. Krabs' eyes bulge with surprise. "What's this now?" he mutters, giving way to amusement. He chuckles deeply, his claws unfolding from his chest. Sponge Bob understands Plankton. "Mr. Krabs," he says quickly, trying to intercept the situation. "Plankton's..." But Mr. Krabs waves his hand dismissively. "I know, I know," he says, his voice filled with mockery. "Just playing his little games." Plankton doesn't want to be laughed at, especially not by Mr. Krabs. With determined effort, he mimics Mr. Krabs. "I know I know," he says again, his tone mimicking Mr. Krabs'. "Just playing his little games!" Mr. Krabs' laughter fades, his gaze sharp. "What now, Plankton?" he demands, his voice hard. Plankton's antennas quiver with determination as he picks up Mr. Krabs' mannerisms. "I know, I know," he repeats, his eye fixed on Mr. Krabs. "Just playing his little games!" Mr. Krabs' expression sours to irritation. "What's your game, Plankton?" he snaps. "Game," he repeats, his voice a mirror of Mr. Krabs'. "Game, game Mr. Krabs." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, his confusion shifting to annoyance. "You're not making sense," he says, his voice sharp. But Plankton doesn't stop. "Game, game Mr. Krabs," he persists, his antennas waving frantically. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes. He knows Plankton's not trying to annoy; he's desperately trying to convey something, but his brain's wiring isn't cooperating. Plankton's repetition has turned into a mantra, a plea for understanding that only Mr. Krabs seems to ignore. Mr. Krabs' patience snaps. "Enough!" he shouts, slamming his claws on the table. "What do you want from me, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas flatten, his eye filling with tears. Sponge Bob jumps up, his own voice shaky. "Mr. Krabs, please, don't yell," he begs. "It's just a game." Mr. Krabs' face twists in anger. "This isn't a game, this is your usual scheme to drive me crazy!" "No, Mr. Krabs," he says.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii (Autistic Author) They sit in silence for a few moments, the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths filling the space. Karen's mind races with the conversation they need to have with Chip. "How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, finally breaking the silence. His antennae still, his eye looking at the floor. "We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. "But we also remind him of all the wonderful things you do for him, all the ways you show him love." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping further. "I know I'm not the dad he deserves," he murmurs. Karen's voice is firm, but filled with warmth. "You are the dad he needs," she corrects. "And we'll get through this together." Finally, Plankton's antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice still thick with emotion. Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. "But we can't keep hiding this from him. He needs to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "I know," he admits. "I just don't know where to start." Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll start by talking to him," she says, her voice strong and reassuring. "When you're ready." They sit there for a while longer, the rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly returning to normal. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to navigate this chapter in their lives. How to help Chip understand his father's condition without scaring him or making him feel responsible. Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. "What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. "First," she says, "we make sure you're ok." They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his back, a silent promise that she's there for him. "Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest." With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from the intense episode. Together, they make their way to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just experienced. Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the stillness. "We're a family." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for understanding. "But what if I can't?" Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to help you." Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. "Ok," he whispers. "Ok." Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she says. "We'll talk more tomorrow." With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the conversation they need to have. Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and he looks up as Karen enters. "Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. "Can we talk?" Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can react in ways that might seem strange or scary." Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks. Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," she says. "It's his way of dealing with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his voice quivering. Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he can't find the right words or when things get too much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's what we call a meltdown." Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, Daddy needs some space when that happens." Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I want to show him my affection?" Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I make it worse?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new ways to show and receive love." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride. "But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his voice still shaky. Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. It's part of how they cope." Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But Dad now," he says again, his voice small. "We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. "And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more." With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?" Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do you think that's a good idea, sweetie?" Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle with him right now. Let's go to his room together." They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. They approach the bed, and Karen can see the tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. And if he wakes up, tell him you love him." Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, his voice quivering. Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze. "That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a murmur. They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room. Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his years.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vii (Autistic author) The movie ended with the snails crossing the finish line. Sponge Bob reached for the remote, fingers hovering over the button. "Would you like to watch something else?" he asks, voice soft. Sponge Bob noticed his friend Plankton's gentle snores. He had fallen asleep, his body slack. "Plankton?" he whispered. Sponge Bob leaned closer, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed Plankton's gentle snores. Plankton didn't stir, his body slumped slightly curled up. Sponge Bob's gaze softened as he realized he had fallen asleep likely for the night. Sponge Bob felt a wave of relief wash over him, for Plankton found comfort in their shared experience. He gently cradles him. Karen, watching from the doorway, smiled softly as she saw Sponge Bob's gentle care. She knew that Sponge Bob had always had a special bond with Plankton, but now, it seemed that bond had grown deeper, more meaningful. He had always been there for Plankton, through their many adventures and misunderstandings. Now, in the face of Plankton's new reality, he remained steadfast, offering a steady hand in the storm of change. "Let's get him to bed," Karen whispered, stepping into the room. Her eyes met Sponge Bob's, her gaze filled with warmth and thanks. Together, they carefully lifted Plankton from the couch, his body limp with sleep. His antennae twitched slightly at the sudden movement, but his snores remained steady, a testament to his deep sleep. Sponge Bob walked down the hallway, his steps light, carrying Plankton with ease. Karen had prepared the bed. They laid him down, his antennae flailing briefly before settling against the pillow. Sponge Bob tucked the blanket around him, his movements careful not to disturb his friend. Plankton's snores grew quieter as his body settled into the cool embrace of the sheets. His antennae twitched one last time before going still, his mouth slightly parted. Sponge Bob and Karen stepped back, exchanging a look of shared relief. "He's asleep," Karen murmured, her voice a soft caress in the quiet room. Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze lingering on Plankton's peaceful face. "Thanks for today, Karen," he said, his voice grateful. Karen's smile was warm. "Anytime, Sponge Bob," she replied. "You're such a good friend to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's sleeping form. "Always will be," he said. The next morning, Plankton woke up, and his antennae twitched as he registered the events of the previous day. He sat up, the blanket sliding off his body, and looked around. Sponge Bob stirred from the armchair, where he had dozed off watching over him. "Morning, Plankton," he said, his voice slightly rough with sleep. Plankton's antennae quivered as he looked around, his gaze falling on Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob yawned, stretching his spongy body, his voice gentle. "You fell asleep." Plankton's antennae twitched as his eye focused on Sponge Bob, his brain slowly piecing together the events of the previous evening. Sponge Bob's smile was warm. "You tired out, buddy?" he asked, his voice gentle. Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae twitching slightly. "Tired," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Sponge Bob nodded, understandingly. "How about we start with a quiet morning?" he suggested. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly before he nods. "Quiet morning," he murmured, his voice agreeable. Sponge Bob nodded, his expression filled with concern. "How about some pancakes?" he offered. "They're nice and easy on the stomach." Plankton's antennae perked up at the mention of food. "No pancakes," he murmured, his voice still sluggish with sleep. Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "No pancakes?" he repeated, surprise evident in his tone. "But you love pancakes!" Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought, his voice a soft whisper. "Pancakes... no," he said, his gaze drifting to the window where the early morning sun peeked through the curtains. The light was gentle, not yet harsh enough to cause him pain. "Toast," he decided, his voice final. Sponge Bob nodded, his smile slightly saddened but respectful of Plankton's new boundaries. "Okay, toast it is," he said, standing up from the chair and heading to the kitchen. Karen met SpongeBob. "Good morning! How's everything?" Sponge Bob's expression was a mixture of hope and trepidation. "Plankton's okay," he said. "He's just really tired." Karen nodded, her gaze following her husband as he slowly made his way to the kitchen. "It's going to take some time for us to figure this out," she said. "But we'll get there." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's reclined form. "We will," he said, his voice firm with resolve. He returned to the kitchen, his spongy feet padding softly against the floor. The room was bathed in the gentle light of dawn, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound. He pulled out a loaf of bread, his mind racing with thoughts of Plankton's new needs. Sponge Bob carefully sliced two pieces of toast, placing them in the toaster with a soft click. "Morning!" Karen says as Plankton sits down. She gives him milk, as she knew it soothes him. "Stayed up late for movie. Still am tired. Love Karen and SpongeBob." The toaster's ding pierced the silence, and Plankton's antennae shot straight up, his body stiffening at the sudden noise. "Easy, Plankton," Sponge Bob called from the kitchen, his voice soothing. "It's just the toast." "Toast," he murmured. "Toast." Sponge Bob carefully brought the toast to the table, placing it before Plankton. The scent of warm bread filled the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of Karen's brewing coffee. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the sight, his body visibly relaxing at the familiar smells. "Yesterday's crazy, autistic or not. And you're still getting used to it all." Karen says as Plankton eats the toast. Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly, still exhausted. The milk Karen had given him was warm, the perfect temperature to soothe his still-frazzled nerves. He brought the cup to his lips, his hands trembling just a bit. As the creamy liquid slid down his throat, Plankton felt a gentle wash of calm spread through him. His antennae, which had been twitching in anticipation of the morning's noises, grew still. It usually helps calm him, which is what it did today. Sponge Bob sat opposite him, his eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping as he took another sip of his milk. "Tired," he murmured. Karen sat next to him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's okay," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of his new reality. SpongeBob helped Karen clean up the kitchen. Plankton sat in the chair, his body slumped, his antennae still. His eye was closed, his tiny chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. His head tilted back and a soft snore escaped his open mouth. Karen noticed. The past few days had taken a toll on him, but she knew that with time and patience, they would find their new normal. "Let's get you to the couch," she murmured, her voice soft. She gently took the cup from Plankton's hand, his grip loose with sleep. Sponge Bob helped her lift his tiny form from the chair. Together, they carried him to the living room, his body relaxed in their grasp. They placed him on the couch, his antennae twitching slightly as he settled into the pillows. Sponge Bob tucked the blanket around Plankton, his eyes never leaving his friend's sleeping face. "Rest, Plankton," he whispered. "We're here." Karen nodded, her pixel eyes misting with emotion. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "For being here." Sponge Bob's smile was genuine. "Always, Karen," he said, his spongy hand giving hers a gentle squeeze. "Always."

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA ii (Autistic author) | ᴺᵉᵍᵃᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗʸ ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ | Karen's eyes widen, and she quickly takes in the situation. She's seen this before—his meltdowns. They've become less frequent, but when they happen, they hit hard. She turns to Chip, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Chip, honey, why don't you go wash up for dinner?" Her voice is calm, but firm. Chip's screen flicked between his dad and mom, not fully understanding. "But Dad said we're doing the solar system after dinner," he protests weakly. Karen gives him a gentle nudge towards the door. "It's ok, sweetie. I'll take care of this. You go ahead." Reluctantly, Chip backs out of the room. He's worried, but he trusts his mom. Karen closes the door behind Chip, turning her full attention to Plankton. His breathing is still erratic, his eye unfocused. "It's okay," she whispers, moving closer to him. She's learned over the years that proximity can be both a comfort and a trigger. She treads carefully. Plankton flinches at her approach, but she's quick to respond, retreating slightly. She knows better than to push to hard. "You're having a hard time," she says softly, her voice soothing. "Do you want me to turn off the light?" Plankton nods, his eye squeezed shut. The dimness of the room helps, but the noise of Chip's retreating footsteps echoes like thunder. Karen moves to the window, drawing the curtains to block the setting sun, plunging the room into a comforting gloom. She sits down next to Plankton, not touching him, but close enough to be there. He takes a shaky breath. "Talk to me, love," Karen coaxes. "What triggered it?" Plankton's eye are still closed, but his breathing steadies. "Chip," he manages. "Chip's touch. It was too much." Karen nods. She's always been his rock, but she hates seeing him like this. She knows the stress of hiding his autism has taken a toll on him. "We should tell him," she says gently. "He's old enough to understand." Plankton's eye flies open, his panic rising again. "No," he says firmly. "He doesn't need to know." Karen sighs, stroking his back gently. "He deserves to know, Plankton. He loves you and he's worried about you." Plankton's body relaxes a little, the sound of Karen's voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. "I know," he admits. Karen nods, understanding the fear behind his words. "But think about it," she says. "He's going to notice things. It's better if we explain it to him on our terms, rather than him figuring conclusions and feeling alone or scared." Plankton looks at Karen, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "Perhaps when the ringing in my ears dwindles," he says, his voice shaking. "I know, we can't keep it from him forever." Karen nods, her screen filled with empathy. "Whenever you're ready," she says. "We'll do it together." Plankton takes a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of how to explain his condition to Chip. He knows it won't be easy, but his son deserves the truth. Dinner is a subdued affair, both Chip and Karen watching Plankton closely, noticing his lack of appetite and the faraway look in his eye. Chip keeps his questions to himself, sensing his dad's discomfort. After dinner, Karen breaks the silence. "Chip, why don’t we all go to your room?" she suggests, trying to keep her voice light. Chip nods, leading the way as Plankton follows, his steps slow and measured. Karen can feel the tension in his body as he tries to keep his composure. Once in Chip's room, Plankton sits on the edge of his bed, looking around. Chip notices the uncharacteristic stillness in his father's posture, the way his antennae droop slightly. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. Karen sits beside Plankton, her hand resting gently on his. "Chip, your dad has something important to tell you." Chip looks at them both, his screen wide. "What is it?" Plankton takes a deep breath. "Chip," he starts, his voice shaking slightly. "There's something you should know about me." Chip looks between his mom and dad. "What is it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton takes a moment, his eye scanning the room as if searching for the right words. "I'm... different, Chip," he finally says, his gaze locking onto Chip's. "I have a condition, called..." “Oh, Dad! Will get better?” Chip asks. “It’s gonna go away, right?” Plankton’s eye fills with sorrow as he shakes his head. “No, Chip, it doesn’t..." But before he can finish, Chip gasps. “It’s called autism, Chip,” Karen says gently, filling the silence. Chip frowns, his mind racing. “What’s that?” He’s heard the word before, but it’s always been in whispers or as a punchline in a joke at school. He doesn’t understand. Plankton sighs heavily. "It's a... the way my brain works," he explains, his antennae twitching with nerves. "It's like I experience the world through a different way than you do." Chip's eyes widen, his mind swirling with questions. "So, you're like... broken?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent concern. Plankton flinches at the word, his heart sinking. He's always feared this moment, wondered how his son would react. "No, Chip," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not like that. Autism is just part of who I am." But Chip's mind is racing. "You, you're like... not normal?" He can't hide the worry in his tone. Plankton's eye flickers with pain at the question, but he nods. "It's just a different way of things, buddy! It doesn't make me less..." But Chip's mind is already made up. "So you can't be fixed?" he blurts out, his tone filled with disappointment. Plankton's antennae droop. "There's nothing to fix," Karen says, interrupting gently. "Different, not broken. Autism is just a part of who your father is." But Chip can't shake the word from his mind. "Autistic." He's heard it before in whispers at school, thrown around like an insult. He looks at Plankton, his hero, his rock. But the damage is done. In Chip's gaze, his dad is no longer just quirky or unique— he's broken, like a toy that's missing a piece. "Chip," Karen says gently, "autism isn't something that can be fixed or taken away. It's part of who your dad is, and it's what makes him special." Chip looks at his mother, his expression confused. "But if he's different, doesn't that mean he's not as good?" Karen's screen fills with sadness, but she remains calm. "No, Chip," she says firmly. "Being different doesn't mean being less. It just means seeing the world in a different way. And your dad, he's incredible in so many ways. He's smart, and he's kind, and he loves you more than anything."

JUST A TOUCH vi (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. His eye dart to the clock on the wall. "Must rest," he murmurs, his voice low. Karen nods, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently, which makes him flinch. "I'm sorry," she says, quickly withdrawing it. They sit in the quiet, Plankton's mind racing, trying to process the onslaught of the day. Karen's eyes are on him, a mix of sadness and love. He can feel it, even through the wall of his new condition. He reaches out, tentatively, his hand hovering over hers. It's a peace offering, a silent request for the comfort she always provided. Karen's eyes widen, surprise and hope flickering in their depths. She places her hand under his, allowing him to guide it to his cheek. "Plankton can, may I ask you something?" Karen says quietly. He nods once, his antennae still. "Yes," he says. "What were you experiencing when you froze today? You know, before we came to our bed? When Hanna was..." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze shifting to hers. "Too much," he murmurs. "Could tell you're here and talking but, cannot comprehend. Plankton felt dizzy in the head. Was present yet not present." Karen's eyes fill with understanding. "It's like your brain was on overload," she says, her voice soft. "And my touch...it helped?" Plankton shrugs, his antennae lifting slightly. "Familiar. Soothing." He looks at her, his gaze intense. "Needed more of you." Karen's eyes water, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'm here now," she whispers. But Plankton notices the tears in her eyes. "Why sad?" he asks, his voice still flat. "Karen crying. Crying sad. Thus, Karen's sad.." Karen sniffles, her thumb wiping away a tear. "I'm just overwhelmed," she says. "I'm trying to understand and be there for you, but sometimes it's hard." Plankton's antennae droop. "Karen not at fault," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. "Plankton's brain... different, now." Karen nods, her hand still in his. "I know," she whispers. "But I'm here to learn with you." Her words hang in the air, a promise of support and patience. Plankton's gaze lingers on their joined hands, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. The sensation grounds him, a lifeline in the storm of his new reality. He tries to formulate his next words, his mind racing. "Thanks," he finally says, his voice a barely-there whisper. Karen smiles softly, her eyes never leaving his. "For what?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "For... being... understanding." The words are forced, but the sentiment is clear. Karen's heart swells with love and determination. They sit in silence for a moment, the gentle pressure of their joined hands speaking louder than any words could. Plankton's gaze shifts from their interlocked hands to Karen's eyes. He can see the love and concern in them, and it calms him in a way nothing else can. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. "Karen," he says, his voice still monotone but with a hint of longing. "Can... be in your arms?" Karen's eyes widen with understanding. She nods, moving closer to him. "Of course," she whispers, opening her arms. Plankton shifts his body, his movements stiff but deliberate as he slides closer to her. He nestles into her embrace, his antennae resting on her shoulder. Her arms close around him, enveloping his small form in warmth. He takes a deep breath, his body finally beginning to unwind. Plankton's antennae still, his breathing evening out. Karen holds him. Her hand gently strokes his back— a soothing motion. Plankton's eye closes. Karen's heart swells with relief as Plankton's body gradually relaxes into her embrace. The weight of the day's stresses seems to melt away as she holds him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breaths. This is a new chapter in their relationship, one filled with unexpected challenges and a deeper understanding of each other's needs. She's aware that his autism isn't something to be cured or fixed, but a part of who he is now, something to be accepted and supported. She strokes his back, her movements slow and measured, mimicking the calm she wishes to impart. His breaths deepen, and she can feel his body grow heavier in her arms. Plankton's antennae droop with fatigue, his eyelid flickering as he succumbs to sleep. His tiny hand remains in hers, a silent plea to not let go. Karen squeezes gently, her screen never leaving his face. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the shadows playing across the wall like a silent guardian. The only noise is the steady tick of the clock and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen watches him sleep, his tiny form nestled in the crook of her arm. His antennae rest peacefully against her shoulder, his breaths deep and even. Her heart swells with a mix of love and fear. She's afraid for him, for the world he's woken up to, a place where every sound, every touch, every interaction is a minefield. But she's also proud of him, the way he's trying to navigate this new reality with a stoicism that belies his size. Plankton stirs slightly, his eyelid fluttering. Karen holds her breath, afraid to disturb his fragile peace. His hand tightens on hers, and she knows he's aware of her presence. It's a small victory in a day filled with confusion. He opens his eye, looking up at her with a gaze that's both familiar and foreign. "Karen," he says, his voice still monotone. Karen's screen brightens with relief. "Yes, Plankton?" He shifts, his gaze drifting to the book on the nightstand. "Book," he says, his voice barely audible. "Read." Karen nods, understanding his need for the familiar. She picks up the book, her eyes skimming over the pages. "Which one?" she asks softly. Plankton's eye darts to the title. "The... puzzle," he murmurs, his voice a mere echo. Karen opens the book to the puzzle they'd been working on. His gaze follows her finger as she traces the words. His antennae twitch. "Would... you like to hear it?" she asks tentatively. He nods, his body still tense. Karen clears her throat, her voice gentle as she reads the words aloud. Plankton's eye drifts closed again, the sound of her voice a comforting lullaby. His hand relaxes in hers, the tension in his body dissipating. Karen reads on, her voice a steady rhythm that fills the silent room. The words from the puzzle book form a bridge between them, connecting them in a way that's both new and comfortingly familiar. Plankton's mind focuses on the patterns and sequences, the logical structure a sanctuary in the chaos. As she reads, Karen can feel his muscles relaxing further, his breathing deepening into sleep. The room's quietude wraps around them like a cocoon, their shared history a warm blanket. It's a stark contrast to the panic and confusion that had gripped him earlier. The puzzle's words weave themselves into a tapestry of comfort, each syllable a stitch in the fabric of their new reality. Plankton's love for order and patterns hasn't changed, but the way he interacts with them has. The autism has transformed his world, but not the essence of who he is. As Karen reads, her voice soothing his frayed nerves, she can't help but feel a sense of awe at his resilience. He's still her Plankton, the same being she's known for so long, but now he's also someone new, someone she's just beginning to understand. His mind operates on a different wavelength, one that she's eager to tune into. Then the door bell rings. It's Sandy! Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening in Karen's arms. "Who is it?" he asks, his voice sharp with anxiety. Karen's eyes dart to the clock on the wall. "It's just Sandy," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching hers for reassurance. "Sandy?" he repeats, his voice unsure. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "It's okay," she says, her voice a whisper. "We'll take this slow." Plankton's gaze locks onto Sandy as she enters the room, his eyes darting around to assess the new presence. Sandy watches him, her face a mix of curiosity and concern. "Howdy, Plankton," she says, her voice soft. "How are y'all?" Plankton's antennae twitch. He's heard her voice before, but it's different now. Too loud, too bright. He shrinks back into Karen's embrace. "Good," he says, his voice tight. "Good." Sandy's eyes dart between them, her smile fading. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice gentle. Karen sighs. "Plankton's had an... accident," she says carefully. Sandy's eyes widen with shock, her hand flying to her mouth. "What happened?" Karen's gaze doesn't waver from Plankton's. "He's been diagnosed with Acquired Autism," she says softly. "From a head injury." Sandy's eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh no," she whispers. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her screen reflecting the weight of the last few hours. "It's a lot to take in," she says. "We're still learning." Sandy steps closer, her movements slow and deliberate. "What can I do?" she asks. Karen's shoulders slump with relief. "Just... be patient with him," she says. "He's still the same Plankton, but... different." Sandy nods solemnly. "I will," she promises.

JUST A TOUCH ii (Autistic author) Plankton began to sit up, his movements were methodical, each action deliberate and precise. His antennae twitched as he took in the sights and sounds of the hospital room, his eye searching for familiarity in the unfamiliar setting. "Home?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and urgency. Karen's screen filled with understanding. "We're not home, sweetie. We need to stay here until the doctors are sure you're okay." She kept her tone soft and even, hoping to soothe his growing anxiety. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on her, his expression unreadable. "You've acquired Autism." The doctor nodded in agreement. "It's important that he feels secure and comfortable in this new environment. Let's start with some simple questions to gauge his cognitive function." He turned to Plankton. "Can you tell me your name?" Plankton's response was immediate and crystal clear. "Sheldon J. Plankton." Karen's heart skipped a beat at the formality in his tone. This was her husband, but the way he spoke was unlike anything she had heard from him before. The doctor's smile remained, but his eyes were assessing. "And who is this lovely lady next to you?" Plankton paused, his antennae quivering. "Karen," he said, his voice slightly softer, "Plankton's computer wife." He was stating facts, not sharing his emotions. The doctor noted the exchange and nodded. "It's alright, Karen. This is all part of the adjustment." He then turned to Plankton. "Can you tell me what you see around you?" Plankton's eye darted around the room again, his antennae twitching rapidly. "White walls. Blue floor. Bright lights. Machines," he listed, his voice devoid of inflection. The doctor jotted down notes, his gaze thoughtful. "Good, good. Now, can you tell me how you feel?" Plankton's response was quick and specific. "Plankton feel the coolness of the air conditioner, hear the hum of the lights above. Plankton's hand is clammy. Your hand is dry." Karen felt a pang of sadness at his lack of emotional description. The doctor nodded, his gaze shifting to Karen. "It's not uncommon for individuals with Acquired Autism to speak in a matter-of-fact manner, especially when they're trying to make sense of their surroundings." Karen felt a tear slip down her screen as she forced a smile for Plankton. "Okay, we can handle this," she thought, wiping it away. Plankton's gaze never left the doctor, his eye scanning every tentacle as he spoke. "Now, let's check your coordination," the doctor said, handing him a simple puzzle. Plankton took the puzzle pieces in his tiny hands and began to assemble them with lightning speed. The doctor watched in amazement as the intricate pattern emerged, each piece fitting perfectly. "Remarkable," he murmured. "It seems his problem-solving abilities have indeed been enhanced." Karen couldn't help but smile through her tears as she saw Plankton's meticulous movements, the way his fingers danced over the plastic pieces. It was as if he saw a pattern that she couldn't. As the puzzle came together, she noticed his breathing had evened out, his movements more fluid, as if the task provided him some semblance of peace. But when the doctor tried to take the puzzle away to test another cognitive function, Plankton's hand shot out, his grip tightening on the last piece. "No," he said firmly, his voice edged with something new, something akin to panic. "It's not finished." The doctor exchanged a look with Karen, who nodded slowly. They had to respect his new boundaries. "Alright, Plankton, take your time," she said, her voice calm. The doctor stepped back, allowing Plankton to complete his task. With a final snap, the puzzle was done. Plankton stared at it, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Once the puzzle was complete, he handed it back to the doctor with a nod. The doctor took it with a smile. "Very good, Plankton." Karen felt a swell of pride mixed with the fear. "Now, let's move on to some memory recall," the doctor suggested, his tentacles holding a series of cards with images. "I'm going to ask you..." But before the doctor could finish, Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye widening as he spotted a smudge on the wall. "Clean," he murmured, his gaze firmly locked on the imperfection. Karen's heart sank as she watched his obsession take hold. The doctor paused, sensing the shift in Plankton's focus. "It appears Plankton has developed some OCD tendencies alongside his Autism," he said gently to Karen. "It's not unusual for them to fixate on certain things." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's as his gaze remained glued to the smudge. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "We can get someone to clean it." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body visibly relaxing at the thought. The doctor nodded at a nearby janitor, who quickly came over and wiped the smudge away, leaving the wall gleaming. With the wall back to its pristine state, Plankton's eye moved back to the cards. He took them in his hands and studied each image intently, his antennae quivering with concentration. "Ready?" Karen asked, hopeful that this part of the assessment would go smoothly. But Plankton's gaze shifted to the floor, focusing on the tiles. Each one was perfectly aligned, except for a single one slightly askew. "Crooked," he said, his voice laced with distress. Karen's heart broke as she watched him struggle with the internal conflict of wanting to fix it and knowing he couldn't. The doctor, noticing the shift in mood, stepped in. "It's alright, Plankton. Let's focus on..." But Plankton's eye was already darting around the room, spotting every imperfection, his anxiety rising. Karen knew they had to get home, to a place where he could find peace. "Doctor, can we go?" she interrupted, her voice tight with urgency. The doctor nodded, his smile understanding. "Yes, you can take him home. Remember, patience is key. His world has changed, and he needs a stable environment to adjust." Karen stood, cradling Plankton in her arms once again. He felt lighter, his body more rigid than usual. As they left the hospital, the chaotic world of Bikini Bottom rushed in, a cacophony of sounds and lights. Plankton's eye widened, his antennae quivering. Karen could feel his discomfort, his body tensing with each step they took closer to the noisy, bustling streets.

CHIP AND FAIL vii (Autistic author) Plankton's body tensed, his eye squeezing shut as he tried to block out the onslaught of sensations. "Chip," he murmured, his voice strained, "I can't." "What do you mean?" He didn't know his touch, his words, his very presence was a storm in Plankton's mind. He just wanted to share his week, his joy, with his dad. Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, his antennae twitching. "I have... I have something that makes it hard for me to... to handle..." But Chip's excitement was unable to comprehend the distress he was causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he asked, his voice filled with eagerness. "You can tell me anything!" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering with pain. He knew he had to find the words, to explain the storm that raged in his mind, his voice trembling. "I can't... I just..." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands reaching out again. But Plankton was already slipping away, his mind a tornado of sensations. He couldn't find the words, the storm too loud. Chip, oblivious to the turmoil, pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me anything," he said, his voice bubbling over with eagerness. His hands reached out again, his touch like a lightning bolt in Plankton's overstimulated world. Plankton's antennae quivered with the effort of maintaining his composure. He didn't know how to explain the maelstrom that was his mind, the way each touch and sound felt like a thunderclap. "Chip," he began again, his voice strained, "I'm..." But Chip was a hurricane, his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it because of the college?" he asked, his screen sparkling. "Or Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that his words, his touch, were the fuel for the storm. Plankton's eye searched his son's, desperate for a moment of calm. "Chip, no, it's not about..." His voice was a whisper, lost in the wind of his son's excitement. But Chip didn't hear the desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts and memories. He didn't see the pain he was causing, only his own need for connection. "But Dad, I just wanted to..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tensing like a bowstring. "Chip," he said, his voice a whipcrack of agony. "P-please." But Chip was in his own world, racing with the excitement of his week. "Come on, Dad," he said, his voice filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's so cool, you've gotta see it!" He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling him to hard. Plankton's body jerked, his eye wide with pain. The sudden contact was like a sledgehammer to his overstimulated mind, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. "Chip," he managed, his voice strained, "please." But Chip's excitement was a freight train, barreling forward without a care for the tracks. He didn't see the agony etched in Plankton's features, didn't feel the tension in his father's body. "Come on, Dad," he said, his grip tightening. "It's going to be amazing, I..." Plankton's body spasmed at the contact, his antennae vibrating wildly. The room grew too bright, the sounds too loud, the air too thin. He couldn't move, couldn't think. His mind was a cacophony of sensations, a symphony of overload. "Chip," he choked out, his voice a plea. "I... I can't." Chip's face fell, not realizing how angry his dad's getting. "What do you..." But Plankton was already spiraling, his mind a tornado of sensory assault. He didn't know how to make Chip understand, his voice a thunderclap of despair. "I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae waving erratically. Chip's smile faltered, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before, his touch a match to a fuse. He took a step back, his hands up in surrender. "You mean, you won't!" he asked, his voice shaking. Plankton took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "Chip," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I can't. Not right now. I need..." But Chip's crashing over the delicate barriers Plankton had built to keep his world in order. "But Dad, it's just a story!" he exclaimed, his voice booming in the quiet living room. "It's not a big deal, you're just being..." The room grew smaller, the walls closing in on Plankton as Chip's words echoed in his mind. Just a story? To Chip, it was a simple tale of adventure, but to Plankton, it was a minefield of sensory input his brain couldn't process. "Chip, please," he murmured, his antennae twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're not trying hard enough!" Chip said, his voice filled with the kind of innocent exasperation that only a child can muster. "But if you're trying to break our family, congratulations! You..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body rigid with tension. The accusation hit him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him under the weight of his own failure. "Chip," he said, his voice a desperate plea. "It's not..." But Chip's screen filled with accusation, his voice loud in the suddenly too-small room. "Why can't you just be normal?" he demanded, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye squeezed shut against the assault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm not... I'm not like other dads." "Well DUH! You just can't handle it, can you?" Chip said, his voice filled with frustration. He didn't see the pain in Plankton's eye, the way his antennae drooped with each accusation. "But it's just a story, Dad. It's not that..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body trembling with the effort to stay calm. "Chip, you don't understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My mind is like a... a... " Chip's eyes searched his father's, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "What? What's wrong with you? Let me guess, you're just being dramatic again," he said, his voice harsher than he intended. Plankton flinched at the accusation, his antennas stiffening. Karen watched from the sidelines, aching. She knew this moment was inevitable, but seeing the pain was like a knife to her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation that needed to happen. "Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice soft and gentle, "Dad's not being dramatic." She took a step forward, placing a hand on her son's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. "Your dad has..." "Mom, my 'dad' has no place in OUR family! Your life is a lie!" Chip's words, fueled by confusion and hurt, echoed through to Plankton, his voice shaking. Karen's hands shook as she reached for Chip. "No, honey," she said, her voice trembling, "it's not that simple." But Chip was already storming out of the room, his footsteps like thunder in the quiet hallway. Plankton slumped back against his chair, his antennae drooping. He had hoped Chip would never have to know, never have to feel the way he did. The way his mind was like a cluttered room, with no way to organize the chaos. He closed his eye, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders.

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii He took another sip of water, his cheeks puffing out as he swished it around his mouth. "Mmph, tath's betta," he said, handing the cup back to the nurse. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. "Okay, let's get you up," she said, her voice still filled with laughter. Plankton nodded, his antennae bobbing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements slow and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm under his and helped him stand. His balance was wobbly, like a newborn foal taking its first steps. She had to stifle her giggles as he tried to navigate the unseen world with his numbed mouth. "Mmph... Kahen," he began, his voice a series of muffled sounds. "How long wi’ this lafs?" Karen chuckled at his question. "It'll wear off in a few hours. But until then, you're going to have to be careful." Plankton's antennae wiggled with determination. "Mmph, I'm a bih boy," he slurred. Karen couldn't help but laugh at his bravado. "Yes, you are," she said, her voice warm and supportive. "Let's get you to the car." With Plankton leaning heavily on her, they shuffled down the hallway." "Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred, his words still thick with the remnants of the anesthesia. "You know, I've alwaths wanthed to know... how youw wove me wath." Karen raised an eyebrow, her smile growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by his sudden sentimental turn. "Mmph, wike, how... how youw... feww in wove?" he managed, his tongue thick and clumsy. Karen's smile grew tender at his earnest question. "Well, it's complicated," she began, her voice soft. "But I guess it started when we met. Now, let's get in the car." Plankton nodded, his antennae waving with understanding. "Mmph, okay." Karen helped him shuffle his way out of the hospital, his feet dragging slightly. He was still groggy from the anesthesia, but his curiosity was in overdrive. "Mmph, Kahen," Plankton slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?" Karen glanced down at him, his expression earnest. "It's like when two people really, really like each other," she replied, her voice gentle. "Wike... I wove youw tho mush." He says. Karen couldn't help but laugh again. "Plankton, you're not making any sense," she said, her voice filled with affectionate exasperation. His antennae drooped slightly, his eye looking disappointed. "Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled, his mouth still a mess of numbness. "It's just... I wove youw Kahen." Karen's heart skipped a beat, his words a sweet jumble of slurs. "I know, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. They reached the car, and Karen gently guided him into the passenger seat. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?" Plankton asked pointing to the dashboard. Karen chuckled. "It's the car's dashboard, Plankton. You're just seeing things differently because of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt, his movements exaggerated. "Mmph, oh," he murmured, his interest shifting to the windshield wipers. "Mow, theath things, they'we like... like... arms," he said, his speech still a slurry mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "They're wipers, Plankton. For the rain," she corrected, starting the engine. He nodded, his antennae still waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's theath wound?" he asked, pointing at the steering wheel. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "That's the steering wheel, buddy. It's what I use to drive the car," she said, her voice still filled with humor. Plankton stared at it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Mmph, and theath wound?" he asked, his finger tracing the path of the windshield wipers. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "It's to keep the windshield clear, so we can see while driving." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with curiosity. "Mmph, so many tings in this big wowld." Karen couldn't help but laugh, his innocent wonder bringing a smile to her face. "Yes, Plankton, there are so many things to discover," she said, backing out of the parking spot. "Mmph, and wath's wath?" Plankton asked, pointing out the window at a passing scallop. "That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies in the sky," she explained, her voice still filled with amusement. He nodded, his antennae bobbing as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o beautiful," he slurred, his eye gazing out the window like a child seeing the world for the first time. Karen couldn't help but be captivated by his innocent wonder. "You know, Plankton, sometimes you say the sweetest things without even realizing it." His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?" he asked, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen nodded, her smile tender. "You do." "Mmph, gweat," he says with a slow nod of his head. Karen steers the car onto the road, the sun casting a warm glow over Plankton's sleepy face. His antennae wilt slightly as his eye struggles to stay open. "Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so bright," he complains, his voice still slurred from the anesthesia. Karen chuckles, reaching over to adjust the visor. "Better?" He nods, his antennae drooping. "Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He said, as drool began to form again in the corner of his mouth. Karen reached over with a tissue, carefully dabbing it away. Plankton flinched slightly, his mouth still too numb to feel the touch. "Mmph, I wathn't expehcting this," he mumbles, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The world outside the car was a blur of colors and shapes, his mind still trying to make sense of it all. Karen navigated the road, her eyes flipping between the road and Plankton's amusing expressions. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?" he asks, his eye half-closed. Karen looks over at the traffic light, its red light a stark contrast to the bright sun. "It's a stoplight, Plankton. It tells me when to stop and go." Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a twail." His eye closes, and Karen can feel his weight shift slightly toward her as sleep begins to claim him again. "Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice interrupts the quiet hum of the engine, his words a soft whisper. "Ith wike I'm swimmin' in molasses," he says, his mouth still not cooperating. Karen laughs, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his peaceful face. "You're just tired from the surgery," she assures him. "You'll be fine once you get some rest." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye opening slightly. "But, Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep," he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience this wowld with you." His words were earnest, his gaze firm despite his grogginess. She watched him fight the tide of sleep, his eyelid drooping again. "Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?" he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his confusion. "It's a mirror, sweetheart," she said, her voice soothing. "So we can see what's behind us." Plankton nodded, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton. You're just tired." His eyes grew heavier, his lid drooping. "Mmph, I am," he admitted, his voice a faint whisper. The car's gentle rocking and the hum of the engine began to lull him into a doze. Karen watched him, his snores growing louder as he succumbed to sleep. His hand still held hers, the connection warm and comforting. She felt his grip loosen slightly, his body relaxing into the seat. His breathing grew deep and even, his antennae quietly bobbing with each exhalation. Karen couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for this vulnerable side of Plankton she'd never seen before. The car ride home was quiet, punctuated only by Plankton's gentle snores and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. Karen smiled to herself, her grip on his hand never loosening.

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD ii The nurse finished up the paperwork and handed it to Karen. "You're all set to go home once Mr. Plankton is ready. Just remember, he'll need to take it easy for a few days. No solid food, only soft things like soups and mashed potatoes." Karen nodded, her gaze still locked on Plankton's fascinated expression. "I've got it covered," she said. Plankton, seemingly oblivious to the instructions, was busy poking his cheeks with his fingers, his mouth still numb and frozen. He looked up at her, his eye twinkling. "Kay... Kahen... anotha... anotha teeth." The nurse had left the room, leaving them in a quiet solitude punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the occasional swish of hospital curtains. Karen couldn't resist the urge to laugh. "You're already asking for more?" she teased. Plankton shrugged, his expression as goofy as a puppy's. "Ith... wothless... wifout... wisdom," he mumbled. Her amusement grew. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment to the teeth or an insult to me," she said playfully. Plankton's antennae shot up, his cheeks flushing a brighter shade of pink. "Mmph... no, no... gwed... wisdom..." he insisted, his speech still slurred. Karen couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind," she said, her voice filled with affectionate sarcasm. "So, what's the first thing you want to do when we get home?" Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement. "Mmph... mow... wock?" he slurred, his voice muffled by the anesthesia. Karen raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden interest in music. "You want to rock?" she repeated, amusement dancing in her eyes. Plankton nodded vigorously, his antennae bobbing. "Mmhmm," he managed, his mouth still refusing to cooperate. "Wock and wowl." Karen couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll make sure to have some rock music ready for when we get home." Plankton's eye lit up, his enthusiasm clear despite the numbness. "Gweat," he murmured, his antennae swaying to an unheard melody. Karen watched him, his normally stoic face now a canvas of comical expressions and muffled sounds. It was surreal to see him like this, but she found his vulnerability endearing. "But first, we need to get you home," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of reality. Plankton nodded, his eye closing in exhaustion. He leaned his head back on the pillow, his snoring resuming its soft crescendo. The nurse returned to check on them. "Looks like he's comfortable," she said with a smile. "You can take him home whenever you're ready." Karen nodded, still watching Plankton's peaceful face. "Mmph... Kahen?" Plankton's eye opened again, searching for her. "Ca-- we go now?" he slurred, his voice laced with hope. Karen couldn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss his forehead. "Soon, buddy," she whispered. He nodded, his antennae waving sluggishly. His hand found hers again, his grip firm despite his grogginess. Karen felt her heart melt at his determination. "Mmph... I teww you 'notha tink?" he mumbled, his smile hopeful. "Sure," she said, leaning closer. "Wheh, mmmph... the dentist made every ting awwright, yet firsh, they saith I woul’ be in surgery. Bu’ they didn’t even cuth me openth! They jus’ made every ting go woozy," Plankton slurred. "Then youw face wath theath wight bulb on top." Karen couldn't stop herself from laughing. "What are you talking about, Plankton?" she asked, her voice filled with warmth. He tried to enunciate, his lips moving awkwardly. "Mmph, Kahen, the dentist... they... they put me to sweep wi’out cutting me." His words were jumbled. Karen's curiosity piqued, she leaned in closer. "What do you mean, without cutting you?" she questioned, her voice filled with gentle amusement. Plankton's antennae waved wildly. "Mmph, they goth me all sleepy and then I woke up wifout getting cuth!" he exclaimed, his words still thick. Karen couldn't contain her laughter. "They didn't cut you because they already took your teeth out while you were asleep," she explained, her voice a blend of humor and affection. Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye looking disappointed. "Mmph, oh... I wath expehcting a magith trick." He slumped back into the pillow. Karen chuckled, stroking his hand. "It's like magic, isn't it?" she said, her voice light. "You went to sleep with four extra teeth and woke up with none." Plankton's antennae shot up again. "Ma... ma... magic?" he repeated, his voice filled with wonder. Karen nodded. "In a way, yes. They used sleepy medicine so you wouldn't feel a thing." He stared at her, his eye wide with fascination. "Wow, Kahen. They're wike wizawds!" he exclaimed, his speech still slurred but his enthusiasm unmistakable. Karen laughed again, her heart feeling lighter. "Mmph, can they make me fwee too?" Plankton asked, his voice filled with hope. Karen shook her head, her smile never leaving her lips. "Sorry, Plankton. Only in your dreams." He pouted, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. "Mmph, no fun." His eye grew heavy again, his body still feeling the weight of the anesthesia. Karen stood, gently squeezing his hand. "Let's get you up, okay?" With a groan, Plankton managed to push himself into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the side of the bed. Karen supported him, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. His head lolled to one side. "Mmph... wath... whath... whath's that?" Plankton's voice was a muffled mess, his words tripping over his still-numb tongue. Karen followed his gaze to the plastic cup of water. "Mmph... wath's in thef?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Karen laughed gently. "It's for rinsing, buddy. To keep your mouth clean." Plankton nodded, his antennae still waving with excitement. The nurse stepped in to help, handing him the cup filled with water. "Here, take a sip." Plankton's antennae waved nervously as he took the cup, his hand trembling. He took a tentative sip, his mouth filling with the cold liquid. "Ah, gwed," he slurred, his speech still affected by the anesthesia. Karen watched him with amusement. "You're doing great," she encouraged, her voice soothing. Plankton managed a wobbly nod. "Mmph... wath's nxt?" "Now, we just need to get you home," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Mmph... dawes?" Karen nodded, her smile never fading. "Yes, darling, we're going home now." Plankton's eye lit up with excitement, his slurred speech a cute contrast to his usual sharp wit.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iv (Autistic author) Sandy feels the full weight of her words crash down upon her. The accusations she had thrown at Plankton now felt like sharp stones in her own stomach. Her mind reels as she tries to comprehend what she had just learned. Autism? Plankton? How could she have been so blind, so cruel? Her gaze falls to the floor, avoiding Karen's. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt. "I didn't know." Karen nods, her own emotions swirling. "But we need to be more careful with him." Sandy's eyes are glued to the floor, her tail flicking nervously. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she says, her voice small and ashamed. "I just thought he was being weird." Karen nods, understanding. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "But now we know better, and we have to help him." She moves towards the bedroom, her steps determined. "Let's go check on him." They enter the room quietly. Karen's optical sensors scan his tiny form, noticing the slight rise and fall of his chest. He's asleep, she realizes, exhausted from the emotional turmoil. Sandy's gaze follows hers, her expression a mix of regret and curiosity. She's never seen Plankton like this before, his features softer, almost peaceful in repose. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Karen nods, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "He's sleeping," she says, her voice filled with tenderness. "It's been a big day for him." Sandy steps closer, her gaze taking in Plankton's sleeping features. His face, usually twisted with plotting and schemes, is now slack with exhaustion. His eye, usually alive with cunning, is closed, and his breaths come in deep, even snores, his mouth slightly agape. "What do we do now?" Sandy asks, her voice hushed. Karen sits beside him on the bed, her hand still on his shoulder. "We help him," she says, her voice firm. "We learn about his autism and how we can support him." They spend the next few moments in silence, the air heavy with the weight of what has been said. Karen's hand continues to gently stroke Plankton's shoulder. Sandy sits down on the opposite side of the bed. Her gaze is fixed on Plankton, her thoughts racing. She had known him for so long, and yet she had never considered this possibility. "What does this mean for him?" she whispers, her voice filled with concern. Karen sighs, her hand still stroking Plankton's shoulder. "It means we'll have to make some changes," she says softly. "He'll need routines, and patience, and understanding." Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can do that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about... us?" Karen looks up, her gaze meeting Sandy's. "What do you mean?" she asks, her hand pausing in its soothing motion. Sandy swallows, her eyes still on Plankton. "Our friendship," she says. "How do we handle this without making him feel... different?" Karen nods, understanding her concern. "We just need to be there for him," she says. "He's still the same Plankton, just with some new challenges." They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the rhythm of Plankton's snores. Sandy reaches out tentatively, her paw hovering over his arm. "Is it ok to touch him?" she asks. Karen nods. "Yes, Sandy. Just be gentle," she whispers. Sandy's paw touches Plankton's arm, her touch light and tentative. He stirs slightly, but doesn't wake. She leaves her paw there, offering comfort without intrusion. Karen watches them with a mix of love and fear for the future. Plankton's autism was still a mystery to them, a labyrinth they were just beginning to navigate. She knows it won't be easy, but she's determined to be by his side. "We're a team," she says, squeezing Plankton's shoulder. Sandy nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "A team," she repeats, her voice filled with resolve. For the first time since the diagnosis, the three of them are united in a common goal: to understand and support Plankton as he navigates his new reality. Sandy and Karen exchange a look, each one filled with a determination that mirrors the other. They've been friends through thick and thin, through Krabby Patty heists and jellyfish stings, and now they're facing a challenge none of them had ever anticipated. Sandy's paw remains on Plankton's arm, her touch steady and reassuring. Plankton stirred, his sleep disturbed by the unfamiliar weight of Sandy's paw on his arm. His eye fluttered open, and he was met with the sight of Sandy and Karen, their faces contorted with a mix of concern and confusion. He sat up quickly, his body jolting with fear. "Plankton, it's ok," Karen soothes, her hand reaching out to calm him. "You're safe." "Karen sad?" he asks, his voice cracking. Sandy's paw tightens on his arm, which makes Plankton feel uncomfortable enough to get him to snap at her. "What Sandy want?" he asks, his voice sharp, his body tense with anxiety. Sandy's eyes fill with tears. "I didn't mean to make you upset," she says, her voice shaking. "I just didn't know." Plankton's gaze flits between them, trying to read their expressions, but his brain struggles to interpret their complex emotions. "Karen sad?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fear and confusion. Karen's hand moves to cover Sandy's, her grip firm but gentle. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. "We're just concerned about you." Sandy takes a deep breath, forcing back her tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Plankton's gaze flickers between them, his mind racing to understand the situation. "No hurt," he says, his voice shaky. "Sandy say Karen sad. No sad." Karen's circuits pulse with a mixture of relief and sadness. "Sandy didn't mean it, Plankton," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "We're all just trying to understand what's happening." Sandy's eyes are cast down, her paws fidgeting in her lap. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice heavy with regret. "I didn't know." She grabs Plankton in a hug, unaware of how the tight embrace might feel to him. Plankton stiffens, his senses getting overwhelmed. "No touch," he says, his voice tight. Sandy quickly releases him, her eyes wide with apology. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to help." Karen nods, her gaze softening. "We all do," she says. "But we have to learn how to help in ways that don't overwhelm him." Plankton's eye darts around the room, with the need to regulate himself. He starts to rock in a rhythmic motion, a self-soothing behavior his new autism craves. The sensation of his own movements helps to calm the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling within him. Karen notices the change immediately and nods understandingly. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "You do what you need to do." Sandy watches, her curiosity piqued by the rhythmic rocking "What's he doing?" she asks, her voice hushed. Karen sighs, her gaze filled with understanding. "It's his way of self-soothing," she explains. "It's called stimming." Sandy's eyes widen, taking in Plankton's rhythmic rocks. "Stimming?" she repeats. "What's that?" Karen nods, her voice calm and patient. "It's a way for him to regulate his sensory input," she explains. "It helps him feel safe and in control." Sandy watches. He starts to hum, a low buzz that resonates in the quiet room, his way of finding comfort in the chaos of his thoughts. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "We're here." Plankton's eye lock onto her hand, the pressure of her touch offering a semblance of comfort. He starts to rock back and forth again. The movement calms him slightly. Sandy watches. She had never seen Plankton like this before. The sharpness of her words from earlier stings her now, as she realizes the depth of his distress. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice quiet. "I didn't know." Plankton's humming turns to a soft melody, his body still moving in a soothing pattern. The words echo in his head, a reminder of the world's expectations he can never quite meet. Sandy watches him, her own world now forever changed. She had always known Plankton to be eccentric, but this was different. This was real. Her mind reels with questions and fears. How would this affect their friendship? Could they ever return to the easy banter they once shared? Would he still be the same friend she had always known? But as she watches him stim, the reality of the situation starts to set in. Plankton was still Plankton, but with a new set of rules and a new way of seeing the world. Sandy makes a silent vow to learn those rules, to understand his world as much as he had tried to understand hers.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vii (Autistic author) "We're just going to do what you want. How about a trivia game?" Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the mention of a game, his love for competition never truly forgotten. "Trivia," he echoed, his voice still monotone but with a hint of interest. "Yes, trivia," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You can show us all how much you know." Plankton looked up at Patrick. "I'm sorry," Patrick said, voice sincere for once. "I didn't mean to make you cry." Plankton sniffled, his antennae twitching slightly. "Patrick mean," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with hurt. "I know, buddy," Sponge Bob said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But he didn't know. Sometimes, Patrick doesn't think before he speaks." Patrick nodded, his eyes downcast. "I guess I'm not the best at understanding things," he mumbled. Sponge Bob leaned closer to Plankton. "Why don't we start our game now?" he suggested, his voice gentle. "We can play a game about random trivia. Does that sound okay?" Plankton nodded slowly, antennae still drooping. "Okay," he murmurs. They around the table, the jellyfish book open to a random page. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on it, his mind racing with facts and figures. Karen took a deep breath, her tentacles still tense from the confrontation with Patrick. "Alright, let's start with something easy," she suggested. "What's the scientific name for jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye lighting up with excitement. "Jellyfish scientific name," he recited, "Cnidaria." "Cnidaria?" Sponge Bob repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's right, Plankton!" Patrick looked at the book, then at Plankton, his eyes wide. "How do you know all this stuff?" Plankton's antennae wiggled slightly. "Plankton read book," he said, his voice monotone but with a hint of pride. "Patrick, I'll ask you a question," Sponge Bob said, his smile genuine. Patrick nodded, eager to make amends. "Shoot." Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Okay, Patrick," he said, "What's the square root of 120?" Patrick's eyes widened, his brain scrambling. He took a deep breath and announced, "It's 12?" "No, Patrick," Plankton said, his voice a monotone but with a hint of amusement. "It's 10.190565... but Plankton rounds to 10." Patrick's face fell as he realized he'd been outsmarted. "Oh," he murmured. "Guess I should've studied more at boating school." "It's okay, Patrick," Karen said. Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with encouragement. "Let's keep playing, Plankton," he said. "You're doing great." Plankton nodded, his antennae slightly less droopy. "Your turn, Plankton," Sponge Bob said. "What's something interesting about yourself?" Plankton paused, his antennae twitching as he searched for words. "Interesting?" he echoed. Sponge Bob nodded encouragingly. "Yes, something that makes you special or unique. Tell us all about Plankton." Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought. "Plankton... good at science," he said finally, his monotone voice revealing his pride. "Especially jellyfish." "That's fantastic, Plankton!" Karen exclaimed. Patrick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, buddy," he said, his voice still subdued. "You're a real jellyfish genius." Plankton's antennae twitched with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish have 24 eyes," he said, his voice monotone yet filled with a newfound confidence. "But no brain." "What?" Patrick's eyes widened. "How can they see without a brain?" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he began to elaborate. "Jellyfish have simple nervous system," he said, his voice still flat but gaining momentum. "Eyes detect light, not images. Help them avoid predators and find food." Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow Plankton," he said. "That's so cool!" "Plankton born cycloptic one eye." Patrick's jaw dropped as he stared at Plankton. "That's... really cool," he murmured, his mind racing to keep up. Sponge Bob nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "Tell us more!" Plankton's antennae perked up at the genuine interest from his friends. "Plankton own Chum Bucket," he said, his voice monotone but proud. "Serve chum, best food in Bikini Bottom." Patrick's eyes lit up. "You're like a chef, Plankton! That's so cool!" But Plankton's gaze remained on the jellyfish book, his thoughts drifting. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with a hint of anger. "Has Krabby Patties.." Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a glance, knowing the mention of Mr. Krabs. "Plankton," Karen began cautiously, "we don't have to talk about Krabby Patties if you don't want to." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his voice taking on a new, almost manic energy. "No, no," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Krabby Patties. Plankton's purpose." Sponge Bob's smile faltered, the mention of Krabby Patties bringing back memories of their long-standing rivalry. "Plankton," he said gently, "you don't have to steal Krabby Patties anymore. You have jellyfish now." But Plankton's antennae quivered with a strange intensity. "Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a newfound urgency. "Gave Plankton brain damage. Accident," Plankton murmured, his voice low. "Mr. Krabs... Krabby Patty... Plankton's brain... changed." Sponge Bob's smile faded, his heart sinking as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled sadness. But Plankton didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton not same," he murmured. "But jellyfish... jellyfish make Plankton happy." Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "You can still have a purpose. Maybe not with Krabby Patties, but with jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quivered as he repeated her words back to her. "Purpose with jellyfish," he murmured. "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her tentacles stroking his back gently. "Your purpose can be whatever makes you happy." "Happy," Plankton echoed, his antennae twitching as he repeated her word. "Yes, happy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're here to support you, Plankton." "Support Plankton," he echoed, his antennae drooping slightly. "But Krabs... Plankton's enemy." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, her own filled with a gentle warmth. "Mr. Krabs doesn't have to be your enemy anymore," she said, her tone soothing. "You can find joy in other things." "Other things," Plankton echoed, his antennae still. "Yes," Karen said, her tentacles waving gently. "Like jellyfish. You can focus on learning about them and sharing your knowledge with others." "Share knowledge," Plankton repeated, his antennae quivering with curiosity. "Exactly," Karen said, her tentacles gesturing encouragingly. "You can start a jellyfish club, remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Jellyfish club," he murmured. "Yeah, buddy," Sponge Bob said, his voice filled with excitement. "We can all join and learn together!" Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, and a glimmer of hope entered his eye. "Club," he murmured, his voice monotone but with a hint of excitement.

CATCH IN MY CHIP vi (Autistic author) Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip, his eye filled with regret, but the words won't come. Despite his leftover anger, he felt a bit bad about it. He just wanted to show Chip what it meant to be bombarded! He didn't have it in him to say he's sorry, and he's still tense. Karen feels the weight of the moment, her eyes moving between her husband and her son. "Why don't you sit with Daddy, Chip?" she suggests, her voice soft. "Give him some space, but let him know you're here. I'll be downstairs." With a nod, Chip approaches the bed, his eyes still filled with uncertainty. He sits down gingerly beside Plankton, who's staring at the shattered mess of their evening. The room is a silent testament to their unspoken words and the battle that raged within Plankton. For a moment, neither of them moves, the air thick with unspoken regret and confusion. Then, slowly, Chip reaches out with his small hand. Plankton looks at him, his eye reflecting a tumult of emotions—anger, guilt, fear, frustration. Chip's hand hovers over his dad's, unsure if he'll flinch or pull away. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. Plankton's antennas droop, his eye still cast down at the wreckage of their evening. "I know," he says, his voice still tight with anger. Chip's hand hovers over his arm. "Ca--" But Plankton cuts him off. "Don't," he says, his voice raw with emotion. "Just don't." He turns away, his body a wall of tension. Chip's hand falls to his side, his eyes wide with hurt. "But Dad," he says, his voice breaking. "I di-" "I said don't," Plankton snaps, his voice harsh. "I can't do this right now." His antennas twitch, his body language a clear indication that he needs space. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his hand retreating to his lap. "But Dad," he starts again, his voice shaking. Plankton's eye snaps up, his anger a living flame. "I said don't!" he shouts, his voice echoing in the small room. "But I'm just trying to-" "I SAID DON'T!" The words are a thunderclap, silencing Chip's protests. He pulls his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees tightly, as if to shield his heart from the pain. "Dad I promise I won't overwhelm you again," Chip whispers. Plankton's antennas quiver, his shoulders hunched. But Chip takes that as a green light. Remembering how his mom put her hand on his back, he tries to replicate it. So with a trembling hand, Chip reaches out and touches Plankton's shoulder with hope.. But Plankton's reaction is not what he expects. With a shriek of overstimulation, Plankton jumps away, his body convulsing as if he's been electrified. "Don't touch me!" he yells. The room seems to tilt, and Chip's eyes widen with shock. He's never seen his dad like this before, so raw and exposed. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers, his hand retreating as if burned. Plankton's face contorts, his body wracked with a tremor that shakes him to the core. Chip's eyes widen in horror, his hand hovering in the space between them, frozen. Karen steps back into the room, her gaze taking in the snapshot of pain and regret. Her heart aches for both her husband and son. She knows Plankton didn't mean to scream, that his senses are still on high alert. And she knows Chip is just trying to bridge the gap with his love. Her eyes lock onto Plankton's, and she can see the desperation behind the anger. He's scared and overwhelmed, and she understands that feeling all too well. She moves towards the bed, her steps measured and calm. "Plankton, sweetie," she says, her voice a soothing melody as she reaches out to touch his back. But the moment her hand makes contact, Plankton's body tenses further, his eye squeezing shut. "No!" he yells. Karen's hand retreats as if she's been burned, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and concern. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice barely audible above Chip's sniffles. Plankton's body is a coil of tension, his eye squeezed shut as if trying to block out the world. The room seems to spin around him, each sound and sensation a needle prick in his overloaded brain. "K-Karen, I...," he gasps, his voice strained. "I-I-I-I… can't..." Karen's realizes the gravity of the situation. She understands that her husband has hit a point of no return, where even the gentle touch of her hand is too much. With a deep sigh, she sits down on the bed, her eyes on Plankton's trembling form. Her heart is torn between concern for him and the knowledge that Chip is watching, trying to make sense of the chaos. "Okay, honey," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's okay. We'll give you some space." Chip looks up at her, his face a question mark. "But Dad?" he says, his voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's okay, Chip," she says, her voice steady. "Daddy needs some alone time." With a heavy heart, Chip slides off the bed, the shattered pieces of his trophy crunching under his feet. He looks at his dad one last time, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and longing. "Okay," he whispers, his voice thick with unshed tears. Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "I'll come find you when Dad's feeling a bit better." Chip's eyes dart to his dad, who's still shaky, his body curled into a tight ball. The sight breaks Karen's heart, but she knows that this is the best they can do for now. Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton, understanding the silent cry for help in his eye. She's seen this before, the way his autism can consume him during moments of overwhelm. She nods gently, her eyes conveying her love and patience. Plankton's breathing starts to even out, his body slowly unwinding from the tight coil of tension. He's aware of her presence, the steady rhythm of her breathing a comforting metronome in the chaos of his thoughts. Karen knows that space is crucial for him, but she also understands that a quiet companion can be just as healing. "It's okay," she whispers, her hand hovering close but not touching him. "You can take your time." Her voice is a gentle reminder that he's not alone. Plankton's eye flickers to her, his breaths still ragged. Karen's understanding is a lifeline in the storm of his emotions. Karen knows that pushing him now would only make things worse, so she sits quietly beside him, offering her silent support. Her love for him is a balm to his soul, even if he can't express it in words.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening. "What accident?" he asks, his voice filled with dread. Plankton's smile is gone, replaced by a look of sadness. "Head," he says, his voice a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He touches his forehead gently, his antennas drooping. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening entirely. "You got hurt?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What happened?" Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. Sponge Bob's confusion grows, his anger replaced with worry. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice softening. "What happened to your head?" Plankton's antennas twitch, his smile a distant memory. "Fall," he says, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat. "You fell?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "When? How?" Plankton nods, his eye flickering with something akin to pain. "Recently," he says, his voice flat. "Head bad." Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing with questions. "You fell and hurt your head?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?" Plankton's gaze drops to his book, his hands fluttering over the pages. "No tell," he whispers, his voice filled with regret. "Shame." Sponge Bob's eyes fill with understanding, his anger evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice soft. "You didn't have to keep this to yourself." Plankton's smile is a pale imitation of his usual self, his antennas still. "No good," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with worry as he tries to comprehend his friend's cryptic words. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "You've just had an accident." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the book, his hands flapping over the pages. "No," he says, his voice a sad echo. "Head bad. Plankton bad." His body slumps, his usual vibrant energy dimmed by his distress. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with sadness as he tries to comfort his friend. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You're just hurt right?" Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt," he echoes, his voice a monotone. "Inside head." He taps his forehead, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for understanding. "Grey matter. Neural pathways." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his confusion growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What's going on with your brain?" Plankton's hand continues to tap his forehead, his voice detached. "Neurochemicals," he says, his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic connections. Autism." His smile is a mere memory, his eye glazed over with a faraway look. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his chest, his mind racing. "You're talking about your brain," he says, his voice tentative. "What's wrong with it?" Plankton's hand stops tapping, his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob. "Wiring," he says, his voice a monotone explanation. "Neuro- typical patterns disrupted affect the parts of brain when result in autism." His words are precise, his tone devoid of emotion. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with comprehension, his spongy heart sinking. "You're saying you have autism now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical divergence," he confirms, his voice still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic variance, myelination discrepancies." He speaks in a monotone, his words sounding rehearsed and mechanical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking for his friend. "What does that mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice shaking. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Plankton's gaze remains on the book, his hand tracing the spine. "Neuro-typical divergence," he repeats, his voice a flat recitation of medical terms. "Synaptic connections altered. Atypical neural patterns. Autism." He speaks as if recounting a scientific paper, his tone lacking any personal connection. "When hit head, damaged the myelination," he says, his hand continuing its mechanical movement against the book. "Myelination is the insulation around the axons that speeds up the nerve impulses made in a part of brain we call the cerebral cortex. My cerebral cortex now restricts, slows down impulses." Sponge Bob listens, his mind racing to keep up with Plankton's sudden shift in vocabulary. "But what does that mean?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How'd the damage give you autism?" Plankton's hand stops its movement along the book. "Neurodivergence," he says, his voice a clinical recount. "My brain now operates outside typical parameters. Synaptic pruning, myelination patterns altered. Atypical neural networks formed." He speaks as if discussing a complex scientific experiment, his words a jumble of medical terminology that Sponge Bob barely understands. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with fear. Plankton's hand stills on the book, his gaze unfocused. "Functional diversity," he says, his voice a hollow echo of the medical lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence can lead to unique cognitive strengths, but also challenges." He taps the book, his antennas waving slightly. "My brain's wiring changed," he says, his voice a monotone. "Synaptic clefts widened, neurotransmitters less efficient. Restricted blood flow to temporal lobes." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "Does that mean you can't be... fixed?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's antennas twitch, his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix," he echoes, his voice a sad recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes. Rewire, adapt. But cerebral cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his mind reeling with the complexity of Plankton's words. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice quivering. "What about the Krabby Patties? Your plans?" Plankton's gaze snaps up, his hands still. "No plans," he says, his voice a sad echo. "No more steal." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?" he asks, his voice filled with hope and disbelief. Plankton's antennas droop, his hands flapping slightly. "No more schemes," he whispers, his voice a monotone. "No more steal." His eye meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of his old mischief briefly shining through. "But," he adds, his smile mischievous, "still have competitive spirit." His hands begin to flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's heart soars with relief, a smile spreading across his face. "So, you're still the same Plankton," he says, his voice filled with hope. "Just... different. Ok, cool!" Plankton nods, his smile a ghostly reflection of his usual self. "Different," he repeats, his voice a sad echo. "But still have friend?" His antennas wave slightly, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for reassurance. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection. "Of course, Plankton," he says, his voice firm. "We're still friends. Nothing can change that." He squeezes Plankton's shoulder, trying to convey his support.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON ii (Autistic author) The doctor stepped in, his tentacles moving gently as he spoke. "Mr. Plankton, it's important to stay calm. This is a big change. Can you tell me your name?" Plankton's gaze flicked from Karen to Dr. Kelp, his expression a mask of confusion. "I'm Plankton," he managed to say, his voice shaky. The doctor nodded, his tentacles still and calm. "Good. That's good, Mr. Plankton. Do you know where you are?" Plankton's eye darted around the room again, his breathing growing rapid and shallow. He looked down and then back up at Karen. "What's happening?" he repeated for the third time, his voice now a little more frantic. Karen's heart was in her throat. The doctor's explanation was beginning to take root in her mind, and she could see the stark reality of their situation. Plankton's repetition, his difficulty with understanding new surroundings and his increased sensitivity to sound—these were all hallmarks of his new autism. The doctor continued his assessment. "Mr. Plankton, can you tell me your wife's name?" he prompted. Plankton's gaze shifted to Karen, his expression becoming more focused, as if her presence was the only familiar thing in the room. "Karen," he said, his voice softening slightly. The doctor nodded, making a note on his clipboard. "Good. Now, can you tell me what happened before you woke up?" Plankton's eye flitted back to Karen, searching for answers. He began to rock slightly, his body moving in a rhythmic motion, a common self-soothing behavior for those on the autism spectrum. Karen recognized it immediately but seeing it in Plankton was jarring. His gaze darted around the room, his pupil dilating with every new sound or movement. The doctor's tentacles were a blur of activity making notes. "Mr. Plankton, I see you're feeling You're almost ready to go back home with Karen." Dr. Kelp says calmly. "Just one more question, if you don't mind. Now, can you tell me if you have any pets?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room. "Pets? Spot! Yes, Spot. Amoeba puppy; Spot.." The doctor nodded, his tentacles still scribbling notes. "Very good, Mr. Plankton. It seems like your long-term memory is intact, which is a positive sign. Now Karen can take you home!" Karen felt a wave of relief crash over her, but it was tinged with the stark reality that their life was never going to be the same. Plankton's autistic mannerisms were now a constant reminder of the accident—his newfound need for routine, his heightened sensitivity to surroundings, and the way his eye would dance around the room as he tried to make sense of his environment. As they arrived home, the stark reality of their new life hit Karen like a wave. His once-quick steps had been replaced with a cautious shuffle, as if the very floor beneath him was unpredictable. Inside, Plankton was drawn to the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock, his eye fixated on the second hand's journey. Karen watched him. His newfound need for predictability was overwhelmingly apparent. "Let's sit down," she suggested, guiding him to their couch, which was now occupied by Spot. Plankton's gaze flitted around the living room, his eye alighting on his beloved amoeba puppy Spot. "Spot," he murmured, his voice tentative, as if unsure if his words would have the same effect they once did. The pup looked up at him, its blob-like form shifting slightly with excitement. But instead of the weariness Plankton has shown today, he joyfully watched Spot's movements. Karen felt a moment of warmth— his love for Spot hadn't changed, nor their usual interactions. The doctor had told her that routines were vital for those with his condition. So, she decided to start their day with a familiar activity: breakfast. Plankton's eye lit up at the sight of the familiar kitchen. He took his usual seat at the table, his hands fidgeting with the napkin. Karen noticed his meticulous arrangement of his silverware, the way he lined up his plate and cup perfectly parallel to the edges. As she prepared their meal, she could feel his gaze on her, his eye darting between her and Spot, who was now playfully chasing his own tail in a loop around the living room. He began to hum a tune, his voice off-key and repetitive. Karen's with love despite the pain she felt. The clanging of pans was loud in the silence, making Plankton flinch—this was going to be so much harder than she had anticipated. The doctor's instructions echoed in her mind: stick to routine, keep things simple. Karen set the breakfast plates down carefully, each item placed exactly where Plankton liked it. His eye grew wide as she slid his plate closer. He stared at the food for a moment, then picked up his spoon. The clink of metal on porcelain was like a gunshot to his heightened sensitivity. He dropped the spoon, his hands shooting up to cover his head in distress. "It's okay, sweetheart," Karen soothed, moving quickly to his side. She retrieved the spoon and set it aside, her hand trembling slightly. "You don't have to eat right now," she said softly, her voice a gentle caress against the tension in the room. Plankton nodded slightly, his breathing slowing as his hands uncovered his ears. He fidgeted in his chair, his eye darting to the ceiling as if searching for something. "Let's go read a book," Karen suggested, desperate to find anything that might calm his nerves. Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze still unfocused. He stood up carefully, his body moving with the precision of a man who knew his world had changed. As they approached the bookshelf, his eye caught a glint of metal from the corner of the room. The invention that had brought them here lay in a tangled heap, its wires and gears silent and ominous, giving him déjà vu. Plankton stopped, his body rigid, his gaze locked on the machine. He stared unblinking, his mind racing back to the crash. Karen notices his suddenly unmoving form and gets concerned. "Plankton?" she calls softly, but he doesn't react. His entire being seemed to be consumed by the wreckage of his former life. The invention, a testament to his former brilliance, now a grim reminder of the accident. "Plankton, honey," Karen's voice was barely a whisper as she tried to get him to talk. He didn't move. The invention, a tangled web of wires and gears, seemed to hold his gaze captive. It was the very machine that had caused this transformation. Karen followed his gaze, her heart sinking as she realized the source of his distress. "Let's go to another room," she suggested gently, her hand resting on his arm. But he didn't move. Karen felt the weight of the moment settle heavily on her shoulders. It was time to face the reality of their new life together—a life where Plankton's once sharp wit and innovative spirit were now clouded by a disorder she was only beginning to understand. Her heart swelled with sorrow as she observed his interaction with the inanimate objects around him. The love she had for him remained unshaken, but the thought of what they had lost—what he had lost—was almost too much to bear. "Come on," she coaxed, her voice gentle as a lullaby. "Let's go to the living room. I'll read you a story?" Yet Plankton remains frozen. So Karen made a decision. She couldn't bear the thought of that accursed machine looming over them, a constant reminder of the tragic turn their lives had taken. With a fierce determination she hadn't felt in ages, she strode over to the invention and began to dismantle it, piece by painful piece. The metal clanked and clattered as she worked, her movements quick and sure, each part coming off with a satisfying crunch. Plankton's eye followed her, his expression unreadable. When the last piece was removed, his gaze lifted to meet hers, his eye filled with something that looked akin to gratitude. "Thank you, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet rumble in the stillness of the now bare room. Karen paused in her task, her eyes meeting his with a surprised expression. This was the first time since the accident that he had spoken to her with anything other than fear or confusion. "You're welcome," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ii (Autistic author) His eye took a moment to focus on her, and when it did, she saw a flicker of confusion, followed by a glimmer of recognition. "Karen?" he repeated, his voice still faint. "Yes, it's me, Plankton. You're ok." But his gaze remained distant, his focus unsteady. "Where...where are we?" "We're at the hospital, sweetheart," Karen said softly, stroking his antenna. "You had an accident." The confusion in Plankton's eye grew, and he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. "What kind of accident?" His voice was still weak, but there was an urgency to his words that hadn't been there before. Karen took a deep breath, her grip on his hand tightening. "Mr. Krabs...he hit you with a fry pan." The words tasted bitter but she had to tell him the truth. Plankton's eye widened slightly, and she watched as the puzzle pieces of the situation slowly clicked into place in his mind. "Krabby Patty," he murmured, his voice distant. "Yes, Plankton, you were trying to get the recipe again," Karen whispered, aching at the memory. "But it's over now. You need to rest." His eye searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of his old self, the cunning and ambitious man she had married. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a vacant stare. "Don't... don't remember," he mumbled, his antennas drooping. This wasn't the Plankton she knew, the one who schemed with a glint in his eye and a plan in his pocket. "It's ok, Plankton," she soothed, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Do you remember me?" Plankton's gaze remained steady for a moment, and then he nodded slowly. "Karen," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. But the spark of recognition was tinged with confusion, as if he wasn't quite sure how he knew her. Karen's felt like breaking into a million tiny pieces. But she knew she had to stay strong. For Plankton. For them. "You don't remember what happened, do you?" she asked gently. "What else do you remember?" Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, his eye searching hers. "Don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's chest tightened as she held back a sob. "It's ok," she reassured him, her voice shaky. "Do you remember your name?" she asked, her voice hopeful. He blinked slowly, his gaze fading in and out of focus, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. "Sheldon... Plankton?" The sound of his voice saying his own name brought a small smile to Karen's face. "Yes, that's right," she said, her voice filled with relief. "Do you remember where we live?" she continued, her tone gentle. Plankton's eye searched the ceiling of the hospital room, as if the answer was written there. "The Chum Bucket," he murmured, his voice unsure. Karen nodded, encouraged by his response. "Good, good," she said, smiling weakly. "What about our friends?" Again, the confusion clouded his gaze. "Friends?" he repeated, his voice tentative. "SpongeBob, Sandy...?" "Yes," Karen said, her voice soft. "Do you remember them?" Plankton's expression grew more distressed, his antennas drooping. "Square...SpongeBob. And a squirrel, yes?" He paused, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. Karen nodded, brimming with unshed tears. "Yes, SpongeBob SquarePants and Sandy Cheeks. They're friends." Plankton's antennas twitched as he processed the information, his brow furrowing with the effort. "Friends," he repeated, the word sounding foreign. Karen could see the gears turning in his tiny head, his brain desperately trying to make connections to his past. "Do you remember anything about your life before the accident?" Karen asked, her voice trembling with anticipation. Plankton's eye searched hers, uncertain. "Life...before?" Her heart sank. "You know, our adventures, our home, our love?" He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Love?" The word was barely a whisper. "Yes, Plankton," she said, her voice cracking. "We love each other. We've been married for a long time, and we've had so many adventures together." She paused, willing the words to resonate with him, to ignite a spark of memory. "Do you remember any of that?" Plankton's gaze remained vacant for a moment before he nodded slightly. "Married," he murmured, as if tasting the word for the first time. "To Karen." His antennas lifted slightly, a glimmer of something familiar flickering in his eye. "Karen Plankton computer wife." "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her voice thick with emotion. "Does that mean something to you?" she asked, her heart in her throat. He nodded slowly, his antennas waving slightly. "Computer wife," he murmured again, his voice gaining a hint of warmth. "Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Yes, Plankton, I'm your wife." She leaned closer, her voice gentle. "Do you remember anything about us?" Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "Wife," he said slowly, his voice a faint echo of the man she knew. "Wife...Karen. Married July 31, 1999." That was their wedding day, a date they had celebrated every year since. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choking. "We got married on July 31, 1999." The hospital room felt thick with silence as she waited for his next words. Plankton's eye searched the room, his antennas twitching as he tried to piece together the shards of his past. "Plankton, can you tell me about yourself?" Karen asked, her voice gentle. "What do you like to do?" Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "Invent," he said, his voice still weak but with a hint of pride. "Science?" The words came out as a question, as if he wasn't quite sure of his own identity. "Yes," Karen said, her voice brightening slightly. "You're a genius inventor. You've made so many wonderful things." She paused, hoping to see some spark of recognition in his eye. "Do you remember any of your inventions?" Plankton's antennas waved in the air, as if searching for the memories that remained elusive. "Inventions," he murmured, his single eye searching the ceiling. "Gadgets...machines." "That's right," Karen encouraged, squeezing his hand. "You've created so many amazing machines. Can you describe one of them?" He blinked, his antennas stilling for a moment. "Chum...Chum Dispenser 3000," he said, his voice picking up a bit. "It makes...makes food for fishies." Karen's smile grew despite the pain. The Chum Dispenser 3000 was one of his earlier inventions, a failed attempt to lure customers to their restaurant, but it was a testament to his ingenuity. "That's wonderful, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "How about something more recent?" she prompted, eager to see how much of their shared history remained with him. Plankton's antennas twitched as his brain worked overtime. "Um... the Incredibubble," he said, his voice picking up speed as he talked. "It's a bubble that can shrink things down to microscopic size." Karen felt a jolt of excitement. "That's right!" she exclaimed, squeezing his hand. "You used it to get to find a secret plan." Plankton's gaze remained distant, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eye. "Computer... plan?" "Yes," Karen said, her voice shaking. "We've had so many adventures together, Plankton. We've faced so much together." He nodded, his antennas twitching slightly. "Together," he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "Do you remember any of those adventures?" Karen asked, her voice trembling. "Adventures?" Plankton's eye flickered, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. "With Karen... wife?" "Yes, with me. We've traveled the ocean, faced so many challenges together." The doctor came in. "You can go home now," he said. Karen nodded, never leaving Plankton's face. She had spoken to the doctor about his condition, about the autism, but she still wasn't sure how to process it all. How would their life change now? "Come on, Plankton," she said, helping him sit up gently. "Let's get you home." She buckles him into his side of the car, his newfound passivity making the usual struggle unnecessary. The engine of the tiny vehicle roars to life, and Karen guides them out of the hospital parking lot. The ride back to the Chum Bucket is quiet, the only sound being the hum of the car's engine and the occasional splash from the waves outside. Karen keeps glancing at Plankton, his antennas listless as he stares out the window. His mind seems to be somewhere else, lost in a world of his own making. When they arrive, she helps Plankton out of the car and supports him as they make their way to the door. The neon sign flickers in the gloom, casting erratic shadows across the sand. The once bustling environment now feels eerie and desolate. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to make this place feel like home again for Plankton.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ii (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen woke up to find Plankton still asleep, his hand still clutching hers. She gently pulled her hand away and stood up. Plankton's snores echoed through the quiet room. Karen studied his peaceful expression, his features softer in sleep, and felt a surge of affection for the man she had married so many years ago. In the cold light of day, the reality of his condition settled in. He was different, but she would not let that change the way she saw him. As a robot, Karen understood the importance of adjusting to new situations, and this was no exception. As Plankton stirred, she quickly moved to his side, ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring. His eye opened, looking around the room before settling on her. "Karen," he said, his voice still flat, but with a hint of recognition. "Good morning, Plankton," she replied. This was their first day facing his autism together, and she had spent the night preparing. Plankton sat up, his eye locking onto hers. "Morning," he repeated. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if his brain was processing each action. "Would you like some breakfast?" she asked. He nodded. "No vault," he murmured, and she could see the beginnings of a frown. Karen nodded, knowing that his obsessions might become more pronounced. "It's okay," she said. "We don't need the vault." Plankton's eye searched her face, his expression unreadable. "No vault," he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "Good." Karen nodded. "Let's start the day," she suggested, trying to shift the focus. She led him to the tiny kitchen area, the smell of chum wafting through the air. Plankton followed her, his steps measured and precise. His gaze flitted around the room, taking in every detail. "Would you like eggs or chum?" she asked. "Both," he said, his voice clearer than before. Karen nodded, cracking an egg over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat at the table, rocking back and forth slightly. It was clear that his senses were heightened, every sound and smell more intense than before. "Here's your breakfast, Plankton," she said, placing the plate in front of him. His gaze fixated on the food, his eye narrowing as if studying a complex puzzle. "Thank you," he said, the words coming out mechanically. But as Karen stirred the chum and eggs together, something shifted in his demeanor. He stiffened in his chair, his rocking coming to an abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing the sudden change. Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he whispered, his voice strained. "Not together. Separate," he demanded, his voice growing more urgent. Karen paused, her circuits racing. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll fix it." She carefully scraped the food onto two separate places, one with egg, one with chum. She placed it in front of him, hoping she was interpreting his needs correctly. Plankton stared. "Different plate," he murmured. "And a new spoon. And new eggs not touching new chum." Karen nodded, quickly moving to comply with his requests. She knew that routines and sensory preferences could be crucial for individuals with autism, and she wanted to make sure his first breakfast post-diagnosis was as comfortable as possible. She replicated his meal with meticulous precision, ensuring every detail was exactly as he had specified, ridding of the old food. The new plate was set before him, the eggs and chum neatly separated. Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly. He picked up the spoon, his gaze intensely focused on the task at hand. Karen watched as he took a tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure. "Good?" she ventured. Plankton nodded, his eye not leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed, his voice still monotone. Karen observed him as he methodically ate his breakfast, each bite the same size, each chew lasting the same amount of time. It was fascinating and slightly disconcerting to watch the man she knew so well now engaging with the world in such a different way. Plankton's routine was always important, but now it had taken on a new level of significance. The clink of the spoon against the plate was the only sound in the room, the rhythm of it almost hypnotic. As Plankton finished his meal, his head snapped up, his gaze sharp and focused on her. "Karen," he said, his voice now clear and concise. "Yes, Plankton?" she replied, wiping down the counter. "Thank you," he said, his eye fixed on the now-empty plate. Karen nodded, taking the dishes to the sink. She could feel his eye on her as she moved about the room, the weight of his silence a stark contrast to his usual incessant chatter. She knew that autism would bring challenges, but she was determined to be there for him.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi (Autistic author) "Why don't we stay in, Plankton?" Sponge Bob suggested, noticing his friend's lingering anxiety. "We can still have fun." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he considered the proposal. The thought of going outside was overwhelming. "Okay," he agreed, his voice soft. "Inside." Sponge Bob nodded, his smile reassuring. "How about a board game?" he offered. Plankton's antennae twitched in consideration. "Game," he echoed, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob's smile grew. "Yeah! Which one do you want to play?" Plankton's antennae perked up at the mention of something familiar. "Game," he murmured, his voice a little more steady. "Choose." Sponge Bob beamed at him, happy to see his friend willing to participate. He picked a simple game of checkers from the shelf, knowing it would be less overwhelming than the loud, bright electronic games that Plankton had once enjoyed. Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as Sponge Bob set up the board, his eyes fixated on the red and black pieces. "Checkers," he murmured, his voice filled with anticipation. Sponge Bob nodded, placing the checkers in their starting positions. "You go first," he said, his voice calm and steady. Plankton's antennae quivered as his eyes focused on the board. He picked up a black piece, his hand shaking slightly. "Checkers," he whispered to himself, echoing Sponge Bob's words. He placed it with precision on the board. Sponge Bob watched him. "Good job, Plankton," he said, his voice soothing. "You're doing great." Plankton's antennae twitched with each word, echoing the comfort. "Great," he murmured, his gaze never leaving the checkers. He moved a piece, his mind working quickly to calculate his next move. The repetitive nature of the game was calming, a familiar rhythm that helped him find a moment of peace in the chaos. "Checkers," he said again, his voice a little more stable. The game was a dance of strategy, and it was a dance Plankton had always loved. But now, it was more than that—it was a lifeline. The game continued, the quiet clicks of the pieces moving across the board providing a soothing rhythm to the otherwise silent room. Plankton's antennae stayed mostly still, only twitching when he felt the need to move a piece. His eye flitted from the board to Sponge Bob and back again, seeking reassurance that he was doing this right. Sponge Bob watched him, his face a mask of concentration, his spongy body still. "Your turn, Plankton," he said, his voice calm and steady. Plankton nodded, his antennae quivering slightly as he reached for a piece. He moved it with careful deliberation, his gaze never leaving the board. "Good move," Sponge Bob said, his voice a gentle encouragement. Plankton's antennae twitched in response, his eyes lighting up for a moment. "Good move," he repeated, his voice echoing Sponge Bob's tone. The words comforted him, a familiar refrain in a world that had become unpredictable. Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Your turn," he prompted gently. Plankton's antennae quivered as his hand hovered over the board. "Good move," he murmured, echoing Sponge Bob's words from moments before. His eyes focused intently on the board, his mind racing to find the perfect place for the checker. The echo of their shared phrase was like a soft lullaby in the quiet room, a gentle reminder of their longstanding friendship. Sponge Bob noticed the comfort it brought to Plankton, the way his body relaxed slightly with each repetition. "Good move," Sponge Bob said again, his voice soft and encouraging. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye focusing on the board. He moved a piece, whispering "good move" under his breath. Sponge Bob watched him, his expression a mix of wonder and concern. Plankton had always been so sharp, so quick-witted, and now, his brain was navigating a new kind of maze. But in this moment, as the game progressed, it was clear that Plankton's strategic mind was still sharp. His moves were calculated, precise. He was winning, and Sponge Bob could see the pride in his tiny friend's eye. Sponge Bob felt a swell of happiness as Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "King me," he murmured, placing his checker on the board's edge. Sponge Bob did so, his heart swelling with pride for his friend. "You're really good at this," he said, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennae curled with satisfaction. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice a little more stable now. Sponge Bob watched as Plankton placed the kinged piece back on the board, his eyes never leaving the game. The tension in the room had dissipated, replaced by the rhythmic exchange of checkers and echoing affirmations. "Good move," Plankton murmured again, his voice a testament to his focus. His antennae quivered slightly as he anticipated Sponge Bob's next play. Sponge Bob studied the board, his yellow brow furrowed. He knew that Plankton had always been smart, but this was something else—a silent, intense concentration that seemed to have taken over his friend's tiny form. With a soft click, he moved his piece, watching as Plankton's antennae followed the move, his eye calculating. Plankton's response was swift and confident, his antennae barely twitching. "Good move," Sponge Bob said, echoing Plankton's words. He felt a sense of awe as Plankton countered with a move that won the game. Sponge Bob's cheer was sudden, his spongy hands slapping together with joy. "You did it, Plankton!" he exclaimed. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening at the unexpected noise. His eye grew wide, the world around him seeming to shrink for a moment as he was jolted out of his focused trance. Sponge Bob's cheer had unintentionally startled him, his sudden movement a stark contrast to the calm rhythm of the game. "Sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob apologized, quickly lowering his voice, his expression softening. "I forgot." Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae slowly lowering. Sponge Bob watched him closely, his own excitement dimming in the face of his friend's distress. "It's ok," he whispered. "You won, Plankton." Plankton's antennae gradually stilled, his breathing slowing down. He nodded, his voice small. "Won," he murmured, his eye refocusing on the board. Sponge Bob's smile faltered, his heart heavy at the sight of Plankton's distress. He knew his cheer had been too much, too soon. "Sorry," he whispered, his hand hovering above the board, unsure if he should clean up the pieces or not. Plankton's antennae quivered, his gaze lingering on the game. "Enough checkers." Sponge Bob nodded, his expression understanding. "Okay, Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's do something else." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he considered his options. "Movie?" he suggested, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob's eyes lit up. "Yea! What do you want to watch?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Simple story," he murmured, his voice still shaky. "No loud noises." Sponge Bob nodded eagerly, quickly searching through the DVDs for a film that would be comfortable for his friend. "How about 'The Great Snail Race'?" he suggested, holding up the case. Plankton's antennae twitched with consideration. The film was a classic, a story of endurance and friendship, and his brain processed the quiet nature of the plot. "Yes," he murmured. "Snail Race." Sponge Bob's smile grew as he inserted the DVD into the player. The familiar tunes of the opening credits filled the room, and Plankton's antennae swayed gently to the rhythm, his body visibly relaxing into the soft cushions of the couch. Karen watched from the sidelines, her eyes misty with relief. Sponge Bob had always known how to reach Plankton in a way she couldn't. His simple, understanding nature seemed to break through the barriers that autism had constructed around his friend. Sponge Bob pressed play, the screen flickering to life. The soft light from the TV cast a glow, Plankton's eye fixed on the snails that began to race across the screen. Sponge Bob sat next to Plankton. He knew he had to tread carefully, to be a source of comfort without overwhelming his friend. As the snails moved slowly across the screen, Plankton's antennae stilled, the story's gentle pace a balm to his overstimulated mind. The movie's quiet humor elicited a small chuckle from Plankton, a sound that was music to Karen. She watched from the kitchen doorway. Sponge Bob had always been there for Plankton, and was grateful for his unwavering support.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi (Autistic author) Plankton holds up the science book he had been clutching, the pages fluttering in his excitement. Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book, then back to Plankton's face. "You're acting different." Plankton's smile falters, his hands stilling momentarily. "No bad," he insists, his voice a bit too cheerful. "Just happy." Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's, trying to read the truth behind his words. "But you've never been this... affectionate before," he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song. "You are good friend." He leans in closer, his antennas quivering. "Best friend." Sponge Bob's eyes widen further, his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton, what's going on?" he asks, his tone filled with confusion. "You've never said that before." Plankton's smile only grows broader. "No bad," he repeats, his voice still monotone. "Good day. Happy." He starts to rock back and forth on the bed, his hands flapping in a pattern that seems almost... happy? Sponge Bob's confusion deepens. Plankton had never been one to show affection, let alone so openly. "What's going on?" he asks again, his voice laced with concern. Plankton's response is a repetitive giggle, his eye locked on Sponge Bob's face. "Good day," he says, his hands flapping in a pattern that matches his words. "Best friend." Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy," he says, his voice high and excited. "Best friend happy." Sponge Bob's confusion turns to concern. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's giggle turns to a laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely hears from him. "Yes," he says, his voice still monotone. "Happy." Sponge Bob watches his friend, his heart racing. "What happened to you?" he asks, his concern growing with each passing moment. Plankton's laughter fades into a grin. "No bad," he says, his hands still fluttering in the air. "Just happy." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with worry. "What's really going on?" Plankton's grin turns into a frown, his hands stopping their motion. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "No bad. Happy." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with confusion, but he can't ignore the desperation in Plankton's tone. He reaches out, his hand resting gently on Plankton's arm. "But why are you so happy?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. Plankton's frown deepens, his mind racing to find the right words. "Because," he says, his voice strained. "I have friend. Best friend." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his hand still on Plankton's arm. "But we've always been friends," he says, his voice filled with confusion. Plankton's smile is wide, his eye unblinking. "Yes," he says, his voice still monotone. "Best friends. Happy." Sponge Bob's mind races. Something is clearly different about Plankton, but he doesn't know what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his voice tentative. "What happened to make you so... so...?" He struggles for the right word. Plankton's smile fades slightly, his gaze dropping to the book in his lap. "Book," he says, his voice flat. "Good book." Sponge Bob nods, trying to follow the conversation. "Yeah, it looks interesting," he says, his eyes searching for a clue. But Plankton's gaze is fixed on the book, his hands resuming their rhythmic flapping. "Good book," he repeats, his voice a gentle mantra. Sponge Bob's eyes flick from the book to Plankton's hands, his mind racing to connect the dots. "Is something wrong, Plankton?" he asks, his voice soft with worry. Plankton's hands stop their flapping abruptly, his eye snapping to Sponge Bob's face. "No wrong," he says, his voice earnest. "Just happy." Sponge Bob's expression is one of bewilderment. "But you've always liked your science books," he says, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in the situation. "What's different about this one?" Plankton's smile returns, his hands resuming their flapping. "This one," he says, his voice filled with a newfound enthusiasm. "Good book. Happy book." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy heart swelling with a mixture of joy and concern. "What makes this one so special?" Plankton's hands flutter with excitement as he opens the book to a random page. "Look," he says, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "See?" Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes scanning the dense text filled with scientific terms. He nods, trying to appear engaged, though he has no clue what he's looking at. "Wow, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with forced enthusiasm. "That's... really interesting." Plankton's smile widens, his hands flapping in excitement. "Yes," he says, his voice a cheerful monotone. "Good book." Sponge Bob nods, still confused but not wanting to rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it," he says, his voice warm. Plankton's hands stop moving momentarily. "Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "You are best friend." He leans in closer, his antennas quivering with excitement. Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise as he feels a sudden wave of warmth and affection from Plankton, something that's never been present in their usually antagonistic friendship. "What's going on, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with curiosity. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Plankton's smile doesn't waver. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice still monotone. "You are good. You make Plankton happy." "What's happened to make you so affectionate, Plankton?" Sponge Bob's question hangs in the air, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected warmth from his usually adversarial friend. Plankton's response is a repetitive giggle, his hands resuming their flapping. "No bad," he says, his voice cheerful. "Good day." He pats the bed next to him. "Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy body frozen in place. "I don't think I can read that, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with uncertainty. "It's really complicated." Plankton nods, his smile remaining constant. "It's okay," he says, his voice soothing. "You try." He pushes the book closer to Sponge Bob, his hand guiding him to the page. Sponge Bob hesitates, his thumb flipping through the pages. The words are a blur of symbols and numbers, his mind struggling to make sense of them. "But, Plankton, I don't understand any of this," he admits, his voice filled with frustration. Plankton's hand stops him, his eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't matter," he says, his voice cheerful. "You are here. Best friend." Sponge Bob's confusion turns to concern. "But Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "You're not acting like yourself." Plankton's smile fades slightly, his hands stilling. "Self," he repeats, his voice contemplative. He looks at Sponge Bob, his eye searching his friend's face for understanding. Sponge Bob's expression is one of confusion and concern. "Is this a joke?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's smile falters for a moment before growing wider. "No joke," he says, his voice a singsong. "Happy." He pats the bed again, his hand a silent invitation. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with compassion. He sits down beside his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his voice tentative. "Is everything ok?" Plankton nods vigorously, his hands flapping with excitement. "Everything is good," he says, his voice a monotone cheer. "Best day." Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on his friend, searching for any sign of distress. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with uncertainty. "You're not usually like this." Plankton's smile never fades. "Don't know," he says, his voice calm. "But now, happy." Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his fears for his friend's well-being growing stronger. "But what about your schemes?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton's eye blinks, the thought of his usual plans of world domination momentarily forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats, his voice confused. Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you know, your plans to steal the Krabby Patty secret formula," he says, his tone light. Plankton's smile falters, his hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?" he asks, his voice distant. "No want Krabby Patty. Happy." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spongy mind racing. "You don't want to steal the formula?" he asks, his voice incredulous, now really suspicious. Plankton shakes his head, his antennas swaying slightly. "No," he says, his voice still monotone. "Only happy." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with confusion, but he can't ignore the genuine smile on his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "If you're happy, then I'm happy for you." Plankton's eye lit up, his hands flapping with excitement. "Thank you," he says, his voice filled with gratitude. "Best friend."

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Plankton's eye closed slowly, his breathing evening out under her calming touch. His body relaxed into the cushions of the couch, his mind still racing but his body succumbing to the siren call of sleep. The smoothie and Karen's comforting presence had worked their magic. Karen sat beside him, wrapped protectively around his small form. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, her heart heavy with the weight of the day's events. The Chum Bucket was quiet now, the silence a stark contrast to the shouts and sobs that had filled it moments before. Karen's heart breaks for Plankton yet she knows Hanna's never met him, never heard of the accident nor diagnosis. With a sigh, she picked up the phone that lay on the end table and dialed Hanna's number. The line rang once, twice, three times before Hanna's voice filled the line. "Hello?" Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she had to have. "Hanna, it's me," she said, her voice calm despite the whirlwind inside her. "I need to talk to you about what happened." Hanna's tone shifted immediately, concern lacing her words. "Is Plankton okay?" Karen's grip on the phone tightened. "No," she admitted, her voice a whisper. "He's asleep now, but he's not okay." Hanna's voice was a mix of shock and disbelief. "What do you mean?" Karen took another deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. "There was an accident," she began, her voice steady. "He hit his head and..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Acquired Autism Spectrum Disorder." The line was silent for a moment before Hanna's voice came back, filled with horror. "Oh Neptune, I had no idea!" Karen's tentacles trembled slightly as she recounted the doctor's words, the diagnosis that had turned their world upside down. "It's permanent," she whispered. "They said his corpus callosum and cerebellum were damaged. He's...he's not the same, Hanna." On the phone, Hanna's voice was a mix of sympathy and confusion. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" Karen's sigh was heavy with regret. "We've been dealing with this alone," she explained, her tentacle tracing patterns on the couch cushion. "It's so new, so overwhelming." Hanna's voice was gentle now, understanding in a way that made Karen feel less alone. "I'm so sorry, Karen," she said, her concern genuine. "I had no idea." Karen's eyes remained locked on Plankton's face, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "It's been a rollercoaster," she admitted, her voice tight. "But we're trying to make the best of it." Karen hangs up and turns her focus back to Plankton, his small body curled tightly under the blanket. She notices the way his antenna twitches as if he's dreaming. Her hands gently adjust the blanket, her touch feather-light against his skin. Plankton's face is a mask of peace in sleep, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the waking world. His snores are faint, a soothing rhythm that fills the otherwise silent room. Just as Karen begins to relax, the door to the Chum Bucket bursts open, letting in a rush of sunlight and SpongeBob's unmistakable laughter. "Plankton?" he calls out, his voice high and cheerful. Sponge Bob's entrance is a whirlwind of energy, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over the laboratory. He doesn't notice the tension in the air as he bounds towards the couch, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees Plankton's unusual position. "Whoa, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice a chirp of curiosity. "Looks like you're taking a siesta!" He laughs, not comprehending the depth of emotion that has just played out in the room. Karen looks up from her watchful vigil, her eyes tired but determined. "Sponge Bob," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Plankton's not feeling well." Sponge Bob's face falls, his cheerfulness dimming. "Oh no," he says, his concern genuine. He approaches the couch with caution, his eyes fixed on Plankton's peaceful form. "What happened?" he asks, his voice hushed. "Is he okay?" Karen's eyes meet Sponge Bob's, full of a sorrow he can't quite comprehend. "It's been a...difficult day," she says, her tentacles tightening slightly around Plankton. "He had an accident." Sponge Bob's expression shifts from confusion to alarm. "Is he going to be okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. Karen sighs, her tentacle stroking Plankton's forehead in a soothing motion. "He's just...different now," she says, her voice tight. Sponge Bob frowns, his bubbles popping with worry. "What kind of different?" Karen's expression is guarded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "He's been diagnosed with... autism," she whispers, the word sounding foreign even to her. "Hey, I was born with idiopathic Autism!" Sponge Bob says. "Well Plankton's got an acquired form, it's a rarity," Karen explains to Sponge Bob, her voice barely a murmur so as not to disturb the sleeping Plankton. Sponge Bob nods slowly, his understanding of the situation deepening with each word. "So his accident gave him autism; when?" "Yesterday, when he hit his head on an invention." Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization. "Oh," he says, his voice filled with sympathy. He sits down on the floor beside the couch. "It's okay, Karen," Sponge Bob says softly, his eyes full of understanding. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton stirs beneath the blanket, his small form shifting slightly. Karen's gaze snaps to him. "Plankton?" she whispers, her tentacles poised to comfort him if his distress resurfaces. But his eye remains closed, his breathing even. Sponge Bob's expression is thoughtful as he looks at the sleeping Plankton. "You know, Karen, being different isn't so bad," he says gently. "I mean, look at me." Karen's tentacles relax slightly as she looks at Sponge Bob, his optimism a balm to her weary spirit. Karen smiles. "Tell that to Hanna," Karen mutters to herself. "Who's Hanna?" "A friend," Karen explained, her voice still tight. "She came over today, didn't know about Plankton's diagnosis. She said things she shouldn't have." Sponge Bob's frown deepens. "What kind of things?" "She said he's a burden, that maybe I should put him in an institution," she whispers, her voice shaking with anger. Sponge Bob's face falls in shock. "That's not right, Karen," he says firmly. "You don't have to listen to her. What's an institution?" "It's a place where clinically crazy people are sent to rehabilitation be 'taken care of.' But it's not like that really for neurodivergent people. It's more like a...a prison where they deprive them, and often...never make it. But mostly it's for people who are violent, which isn't the case for..." Her voice trails off as Plankton stirs again, his antennae twitching slightly. Sponge Bob looks at Plankton, his eyes filled with compassion. "He's not going anywhere, Karen," he says firmly. "You guys are like family to me. I'll help you take care of him." Plankton's single eye opens slightly, his gaze unfocused. "Shh, it's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing caress. Plankton blinks slowly, his eye coming into focus as he sees Sponge Bob. A smile spreads across his face, a rare expression of pure joy that lights up his features. His body uncoils from its tense curl, his antennae perking up with excitement. "Sponge Bob," Plankton whispers, his voice filled with a warmth that surprises Karen. He sits up slowly, his movements calculated to avoid any jolts to his sensitive system. Sponge Bob's face splits into a beaming smile, his eyes shining with joy. "Hey, Plankton!" He says. Plankton's gaze remains fixed on Sponge Bob, his expression a mixture of gratitude and comfort. "You're here," he says simply, his voice a rough whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his smile never wavering. "Of course I am," he says, his voice gentle. He reaches out a hand tentatively, his movements slow and deliberate. Plankton's antennae twitch, then he reaches out, his grip firm but not too tight. The two of them sit there, the silence comforting rather than oppressive. **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

TEETHIES ii The nurse dimmed lights and adjusted the bed, giving Plankton's body a chance to recover from the wisdom tooth surgery. Gently, Karen began to hum a tune she knew Plankton loved. The melody filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. His breathing grew a little easier, the tension in his hand loosening slightly. Plankton stirred, eye fluttering open to reveal a world still blurred by the fog of anesthesia. "Where... what...?" Plankton slurred. "Who... who are you?" "The dentist had to get your wisdom teeth out in surgery." Karen told him. "Wis...dommm...surgery? I don't...I don't remembe--- much." Plankton says. "Had to take them out. You've been asleep for a while." The nurse said. The door to the room creaked open to SpongeBob, his face a picture of concern. "Plankton!" he exclaimed. "How are ya?" Plankton, still groggy from the surgery, tried to form a coherent sentence. "S-SpongeBob," he slurred. "M-more wike... 'Arrr, matey' than usual, I s'pose." Karen rolled her pixel eyes. "It's the anesthesia." Plankton chuckled. "Ahoy ther- Spongey! Aye, it's awh’ 'cause of tweasare... I mean, surgery," he corrected, his speech still swaying. "You two are always so... " Karen trailed off, searching for the right word. "Inseparabubble?" Plankton suggested. Sponge Bob's laughter bubbled up again. "You mean, no Krabby Patty stealing schemes?" "Thath's righ'. No mow... Krabby... Patties... fow awhile." The words came out in a drawn-out slur, his head lolling slightly on the pillow. "Thath's... wath I wath thhinking," his speech still slurred but fading as his eyelid growing heavy. "Arr, thith... thith way, me... hearty," Plankton mumbled, as the nurse helped 'em into the car. "Arr, me... tweasuwe... home,". Sponge Bob watched his eyelid grew heavier. Plankton's head lolled back against the seat and his mouth fell open slightly, emitting a soft snore. "He's gonna be out for a bit," Karen said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "The anesthesia usually takes a few hours to wear off completely. He'll be fine." He reached out and gently patted Plankton's arm, whispering, "Don't worry, buddy. We're almost there." "We're home, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. Sponge Bob turned to see Plankton's chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, his mouth open in snore's. His usually scheming eye were shut tight. Karen carefully opened the door. Sponge Bob looked at Plankton, who was still out cold. Sponge Bob leaned over the seat, his arms wrapping around Plankton's frail body. Plankton's head lolled back, his mouth still open in snore's. "Should we... should we wake him?" "Let him rest, Sponge Bob. He's had a rough day." Karen puts him on the couch. "Do you think he'll... you know, remember any of this?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice low and tentative. Karen's smile was a gentle wave. "I doubt it. The anesthesia usually wipes out memories for a bit." "Rest well, honey," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "You've had a long day." Suddenly Plankton stirs in his sleep, his snores morphing into a groan as he shifts beneath the blanket. "Is he okay?" SpongeBob asks. "He's okay," she nods, her voice a gentle lullaby in the stillness. "Just anesthesia wearing off." She stood by him. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cooed, gently rubbing Plankton's back. "You're okay." The little villain's body twitched, and his eye fluttered open. For a brief moment, confusion clouded his gaze before he spotted Sponge Bob and Karen. "W-wha... whass happening?" Plankton's words were slurred, his lisp more pronounced than ever. "You're home, Plankton. You had wisdom teeth removed." "W-what? Did I miss... somefink?" He tried to sit up, his body moving as if through syrup. "You've been out for a bit," Karen said. "But you're home now." Plankton blinked. "Home?" he mumbled. "Yes, sweetie," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "You had your wisdom teeth out. You're going to be fine." "Oww... wha’ happened to my mouf?" "Your wisdom teeth were out." "Oh... wight," he murmured. "Need anything?" "Could... could I have some... ice... cweam?" His voice was a whispered plea. They get him some. "Thath's... thoothing. So, how'd I get home?" "Karen and I brought you back," Sponge Bob said. "You were out cold. Didn't even wake up when we carried you in." "Did... did you two... take care of me?" His voice was a mix of surprise and vulnerability. "Of course, Plankton!" He turned to Plankton. "Want me to pick something to watch?" "Mm-hmm," Plankton mumbled, eye already closing again. Sponge Bob flicked through the tv channels, finally settling on a rerun of their favorite show, "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy." The familiar theme song filled the room, and Karen took a seat next to Plankton on the couch, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. As the adventure unfolded on the screen, Plankton's breathing grew deeper and more regular, his body gradually relaxing into the cushions. "Looks like he's out again," Karen said softly. Sponge Bob nodded, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically. "Guess the surgery really took it out of him." The room grew quiet, save for the distant laugh track of their favorite show and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, her thumb tracing small circles. At night, turning the tv off, Spongebob picked Plankton up, cradling him. His friend's head lolled back, his mouth slightly open in a peaceful snore. Sponge Bob carefully made his way to his bed, setting him down. He pulled the blanket up to Plankton and gave him a soft pat. They both settled into the makeshift beds they had set up next to Plankton's. The next morning, both woke up before Plankton. Karen chuckled. "We should take a picture." Spongebob snapped a picture of Plankton, still asleep with his mouth slightly open, a trail of drool escaping onto the pillow. "Morning, Captain Snores-a-lot," Sponge Bob whispered with a smirk, rousing Plankton. Plankton's eye opened, only to wince. "Oww... wath... what's happening?" "It's morning, Plankton," Karen said, her tone still gentle. "Look your post-surgery glamour shot," Spongebob teased, holding the phone out of reach. "You were out cold last night." Plankton's eye widened as he took in the image. "You... you took a picture of me?!" He was half horrified, half amused. "Couldn't resist," Karen said, grinning. Plankton rolled his eye and wiped his mouth, then winced. "How wong hav- I been out?" "Overnight," Sponge Bob said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "You had quite the ride home yesterday." Plankton groaned, his hand reaching up to gingerly touch his swollen cheek. "Whath happened?" "You had your wisdom teeth out," Karen reminded him, her voice filled with a touch of amusement. "It's normal to be a bit out of it after surgery." "Wisdom teeth?" Plankton echoed, his voice still groggy. "Oh, wight. The dentist." Karen chuckled. "Yeah, you don't remember much, do you?" Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You talked like a pirate all the way home, matey." Plankton's eye widened in horror. "I did what?" Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, you kept calling me 'Spongey' and said we were 'inseparabubble'." Plankton blushed. "Oh, come on," he mumbled, trying to hide his face in the pillow. Sponge Bob and Karen shared a knowing look, their laughter subsiding into a comfortable silence. They could both tell that despite his tough exterior, Plankton was a bit embarrassed. Plankton sighed, his small body sinking deeper into the pillows. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "But if I don't get to do anything, can I at leash wash TV?" "Of course," Karen said, handing him the remote. "But take it easy today, okay?" With a groan, Plankton managed to sit up, his hand still tentatively exploring his tender cheeks. He squinted at the TV, searching for something to watch. His eye lit up when he found a science fiction marathon. "Jackpot," he murmured.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi (Autistic author) Plankton's sobs grew softer in Karen's embrace, his tiny body trembling with the weight of his emotions. "I-it's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae gently. "You can like jellyfish all you want, sweetheart." Sponge Bob watched from a distance, his heart heavy. He had never seen Plankton like this, vulnerable and hurt. He knew the two of them had their differences, but this was different. Plankton's sobs grew quieter, but the pain didn't leave his eye. Karen held him tight, filled with a fiery determination. "Plankton," she whispered soothingly. "You don't have to change who you are because of this." He pulled away slightly, his antennae drooping as he looked at her. "But what if jellyfish are all Plankton good for?" he murmured, his voice still monotone but filled with a depth of emotion that tugged at Karen's heartstrings. "Plankton, you're more than just jellyfish," Karen said, voice firm yet gentle. "You're a smart, resourceful, and determined little creature. You've always been so much more than that." The room was still, the only sound was Plankton's sniffs. His antennae drooped, and he looked up at her, his single eye red and puffy from crying. "But Karen," he whispered, his voice monotone yet filled with emotion, "it's all Plankton know now." Karen's eyes shone with empathy. "That's not true, darling," she said, her voice soothing. "You're capable of so much more. We just have to figure out how to navigate this new world together." Sponge Bob hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to do. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered. Karen nodded, her tentacles tightening around Plankton. "Could you be with him while I admonish Patrick?" "Of course," Sponge Bob said, moving closer to Plankton. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded. "I'll be right outside," Karen said, her voice gentle. Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze focused on Plankton's small trembling form. "I've got him," he said, his eyes filled with understanding and a newfound respect for the tiny creature before him. As Karen left to talk to Patrick Sponge Bob sat down beside Plankton, his own heart aching for his friend's pain. He knew that Plankton was going through a difficult time, and he wanted to be there for him. Meanwhile, outside the Chum Bucket, Karen found Patrick still standing there, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "Patrick," she began, her voice sharp, "You need to understand something." Patrick looked at her with his usual vacant stare. "What's up, Karen?" "You have to understand, Patrick," she began, her voice tight with tension. "Plankton's... he's different now." Patrick's smile faded as he met Karen's stern gaze. "Different?" Karen sighed, trying to find the words. "Plankton's had an... accident," she said. "It's changed him." Patrick's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean, changed?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain the complex situation in a way that would make sense to someone like Patrick. "Plankton's had a... a bump on the noggin," she said, her tentacles gesturing to her own head. "It's affected the way he thinks, the way he sees the world." Patrick's eyes widened in surprise. "Whoa, that's heavy, Karen," he said, his tone more serious than it had been in a long time. "Is he ok?" "Well, he's alive," Karen said, her voice tight with frustration. "But he's not the same, Patrick. He's... different." Patrick's smile faded as he took in her words, his eyes finally showing a glimmer of understanding. "What happened?" he asked, his tone serious for once. "It's complicated, Patrick," Karen said. "But the important thing is he's a new version of himself. So you can choose to be nice to him or just leave." Patrick's face fell, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. "But I didn't know, Karen," he protested, his voice small. "How was I supposed to know?" "It's not about knowing, Patrick," Karen said, her voice firm. "It's about being a good friend. And if you can't do that, then maybe it's time for you to rethink what friendship really means." Patrick's expression grew contemplative. "But Karen," he began, his voice tentative, "what if Plankton's... you know, not right in the head anymore?" "Patrick, that's not funny," she snapped. "This isn't a game. This is real life. And Plankton's life has changed in ways you can't even begin to understand." Patrick looked down at his feet, his usual jovial expression replaced by one of contemplation. "I didn't mean to be a jerk," he mumbled. "I know you didn't mean to," Karen said, her tone softening slightly. "But you need to be more considerate." Patrick nodded, his cheeks flushing. "I'll be nicer," he promised, his eyes darting to the Chum Bucket door. "Good," Karen said firmly, then turned back to the Chum Bucket. She opened the door to find Plankton still on the floor, clutching the jellyfish book. His antennae perked up as she entered. Sponge Bob looked up, his expression a mix of sadness and determination. "I think he's okay." Plankton sniffled, his antennae drooping. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his voice a monotone whisper. Karen's expression softened as she saw the pain in his eye. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her tentacles reaching out to comfort him. "You don't have to be anything other than who you are." Sponge Bob nodded in agreement. "You're still the same Plankton we know and love."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's heart swells with compassion. "It's ok, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "We don't have to play anymore." Plankton's antennas drop, and he nods slowly. "No fish," he repeats, his voice a sigh of relief. Sponge Bob's hand freezes in mid-air, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of anger or disappointment. But all he sees is a glimmer of understanding in his friend's eye. "Thank Sponge Bob for being patient." Plankton says to him. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes still filled with concern. "I'll be patient, Plankton," he promises. "Can I ask how you hit your head?" Plankton's antennas lift slightly. "Pan," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only Karen and SpongeBob know." Sponge Bob's eyes widen with shock. "What?!" he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs hurt you?" Plankton nods, his antennas still low. "Pan," he repeats, his voice shaking. "Pan," he says again, his voice softer. "Krabs hit on head." Sponge Bob's anger towards Mr. Krabs is immediate and intense. "I can't believe he'd do that to you," he says, his voice low and teary. "Mr. Krabs did to protect the krabby patty." Karen interjects quickly, sensing the tension. "He doesn't know how badly he hurt Plankton." Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, his thoughts racing. He can't believe Mr. Krabs could do something like that, even in the heat of the moment. "I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," he says firmly, his voice laced with determination. "He needs to know what..." "No!" The sharpness of Plankton's voice cuts through the air like a knife, his antennas shooting up in alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he says, his eye wide with fear. "No tell." Sponge Bob's anger fades slightly, replaced by confusion. "Why not?" he asks, his voice gentle. "He needs to know so he can understand.." Plankton's antennas quiver anxiously. "Krabs not know," he whispers, his eye pleading with Sponge Bob. "Safe here." Sponge Bob's confusion deepens. "But Plankton, if Mr. Krabs doesn't know, how will he make it up to you?" Plankton's antennas droop, his eye darting back and forth between Karen and Sponge Bob. "No make up," he murmurs. "Just no satisfaction for Krabs." Sponge Bob's mind spins with the implications. He knows Mr. Krabs would never hurt anyone that much intentionally, even Plankton; but the thought of his boss not knowing the extent of his actions troubles him. "I won't tell him," Sponge Bob says, his voice soft with reassurance. But of course, Mr. Krabs comes in. "What in the name of Neptune are ye doing? I gave ye the day off yesterday!" "The Krusty Krab is closed on Sunday, and it's Sunday today." SpongeBob reminds his boss. "Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks at Plankton and his eyes narrow. "What's going on here?" he asks, suspicion heavy in his voice. Plankton's antennas droop even lower, and he looks down at the floor. Plankton speaks first. "Go fish," he whispers, his eye darting up to meet Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in quickly, trying to cover for his friend. "We were just playing a game," he says, forcing a smile. Mr. Krabs eyes them both skeptically. "Well, I hope it wasn't about stealing me secret formular," he says, his claws tapping nervously. "No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge Bob says quickly, "just a friendly game." Plankton's antennas twitch slightly at the mention of the Krabby Patty formula, but he remains silent. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow further. "What's wrong with you, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with concern and a touch of irritation. "You're acting strangely quiet even for you." Plankton's antennas quiver. Sponge Bob's heart paces. He doesn't want to betray Plankton's trust. "It's nothing," Plankton says, his voice forced. "Just a little game, Krabs wanna play." "Fine I'll play, but I got my eye on ye, Plankton." Mr. Krabs says, his tone still suspicious as he sits down to join them. Sponge Bob's eyes dart to Karen, who gives a nod of understanding. They'll keep the secret and hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure it out. "Let's play Uno!" Sponge Bob says, getting out the new card game, dealing the cards. Plankton's antennas perk up at the mention of a new game, and he eagerly takes his cards. Mr. Krabs grumbles but plays along, eyeing Plankton carefully. Then, it happens. Mr. Krabs slaps a card down on the pile and excitedly yells, "Uno!" Plankton's antennas shoot straight up, and his eye widen with sensory overload. Sponge Bob's concerned, but Mr. Krabs is too busy gloating to notice. "Yee-haw!" he crows. "I win again!" Plankton's antennas quiver as he tries to process the sudden loudness and change in the atmosphere. Mr. Krabs looks at him, his expression puzzled. "What's the matter, Plankton?" he asks, his voice laced with disdain. "Lost your competitive spirit?" Sponge Bob's eyes widen. "Plankton's just excited, Mr. Krabs," he says quickly. "Isn't that right, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas wave erratically, and his voice is a mix of fear and confusion. "Yes, Krabs," he stammers, his eye darting around the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes." Mr. Krabs looks at him oddly but shrugs it off, his attention already returning to the game. "Alright, let's keep playing," he says, dealing out more cards. But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, his antennas twitching with the effort to keep up. "Fish," he murmurs to himself, trying to find a familiar word. His hands shake as he holds his cards, the world around him a cacophony of sensory overload. Sponge Bob notices Plankton's distress and quickly changes the topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, have you ever played Chess?" Mr. Krabs' eyes light up. "Chess? The game of kings and conquers!" he exclaims. "I'd love a round!" SpongeBob gets the chess game. The chess pieces are set up, and Mr. Krabs begins to play, his claws clacking against the board as he moves his pieces. Plankton watches, his antennas still, his eye focused. "Your move, Plankton," Mr. Krabs says, his claws tapping the edge of the board impatiently. But Plankton doesn't move. He just sits there, staring at the chessboard, his cards forgotten in his hand. "What's with you?" Mr. Krabs asks, his voice filled with exasperation. "You're taking forever!" Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat. He knows he can't let Mr. Krabs see how much Plankton's been affected by the accident. "It's ok Mr. Krabs," he says quickly. "Plankton's just thinking of his next move." Mr. Krabs grumbles but doesn't push the issue. He's too focused on his own strategy, his claws moving pieces with calculated precision. But Plankton remains frozen, his gaze unwavering on the board. His antennas twitch slightly, a sign of his racing thoughts. After several moments of silence, Mr. Krabs finally snaps. "Plankton, it's your turn!" he says, his patience wearing thin. Plankton's antennas twitch, and his eye flits to the board. "Fish?" he asks, his voice unsure. Mr. Krabs stares at Plankton, his eyes narrowing. "What do fish have to do with chess?" he asks, confusion etched deeply on his face. Sponge Bob's heart sinks as he sees the puzzlement in Mr. Krabs' eyes. He quickly jumps in. "Oh, Plankton was just thinking out loud," he says, trying to lighten the mood. Mr. Krabs grunts, but his suspicion doesn't fade. "You've always been a weird little fellow, Plankton, but this is something else," he says, his tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation. Sponge Bob's heart thumps in his chest as he tries to diverge the conversation. "Why don't we talk about something else?" he suggests, his eyes darting back to the chessboard. Mr. Krabs' gaze remains on Plankton, his eyes narrowed. But Plankton's antennas remain still, his expression vacant. "Fish," he murmurs, his voice distant. Mr. Krabs' patience thins to a thread. "Fish?" he repeats, his confusion palpable. "What's going on with you, Plankton?" Plankton's antennas wobble, his eye still fixated on the board. "Fish," he says again, his voice uncertain. Mr. Krabs leans forward, his eyes studying Plankton closely. "You okay, tiny fry?" he asks, hinting concern despite the sarcasm. Plankton's antennas quiver slightly. "Fish," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob's heart clenches at the word, understanding now that it's not just a game for Plankton; it's his way of trying to make sense of the world around him. Mr. Krabs, however, simply sighs and shakes his head. "You always have to make everything so complicated," he mumbles, his voice tired. "Why can't you just play the game like everyone else?" He yells tipping the board over to where the chess pieces fall to the ground by Plankton. Plankton's antennas shiver at the sound, and his eye dart to the upset board, his expression one of deep distress. "No fish," he whispers, his voice breaking. Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, his suspicion growing. "What's going on with you?" he asks again. "Fish, fish, fish!"

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD i Karen had been pacing the waiting room. Finally, the doors swung open and Dr. Castellanos stepped out. Karen rushed over. "How's Plankton?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. Dr. Castellanos offered a small, reassuring smile. "The surgery went well. We removed all four wisdom teeth without any complications. He's in recovery." Karen followed the dentist Dr. Castellanos down the hallway. They entered a small, curtained area. There lay Plankton, his snoring soft and even, surrounded by the beeping monitors. Karen felt a gentle wave of relief wash over her, seeing his usually furrowed brow now relaxed in sleep, his mouth slightly ajar. "We numbed his mouth even though he's slept under the anesthesia, so he might not feel that part of his face for today. The anesthesia can normally cause patients to act a bit peculiar when they first wake up," Dr. Castellanos explained as Karen studied Plankton's slack features, his antennae twitching with each snore. As if on cue, a string of drool slithered out of the corner of Plankton's mouth and dangled. Karen chuckled at the absurdity of it all. "Don't worry, it's perfectly normal," Dr. Castellanos assured her with a gentle pat on the shoulder. "The numbness can cause that. It'll wear off by tomorrow. He'll wake up anytime though." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. The surgery was a success, but she knew the real test would be when he came to. Would he be in pain? Would he be groggy or scared? The what-ifs swirled in her mind like a tornado of uncertainty. The room grew quiet, the only sounds the persistent rhythm of the heart monitor and Plankton's slight snores. Karen pulled up a chair and took his hand, her thumb gently stroking the back of his palm. As the minutes ticked by, the curtain around the bed parted and in stepped a nurse, her shoes squeaking softly on the clean, white floor. "Miss?" she said quietly. "When Mr. Plankton wakes up, he might be disoriented. We've prepared a cup of water if he's thirsty." Karen nodded her understanding, squeezing Plankton's hand slightly. The nurse checked the monitors and stayed with them. Karen leaned in, whispering to Plankton, "You're going to be okay." Eventually, Plankton's snoring grew less pronounced, and his eye began to flutter open. He looked around the unfamiliar space with a dazed expression, confused and unfocused. Karen leaned in closer, her eyes brimming with a mix of concern and relief. Plankton's eye settled on Karen's face. She offered a tentative smile, not wanting to startle him. "Hey, buddy," she whispered, her voice soothing. "You're all done. You're in recovery now." His eyes searched hers, slowly focusing. He tried to mouth a question, but the numbness took hold. All that came out was a muffled, "Mmmm?" Karen's smile grew wider. "You're okay," she assured him, her voice calm and soothing. "You had your wisdom teeth removed. Remember?" Plankton blinked a few times, his gaze flicking from Karen to the unfamiliar surroundings and back again. He attempted to speak again. "Mmph?" It was barely audible, his mouth refusing to cooperate. Karen nodded, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "You're in the dentist, remember? You had surgery to remove your wisdom teeth." Plankton's eye grew wider, his mind trying to piece together the hazy fragments of memory. "Windom eet?" Karen chuckled despite herself. "Yes, all four," she confirmed, nodding. Plankton's eye grew even wider, and he managed to nod, a look of astonishment spreading across his face. The nurse came over. "Here, let's help you sit up," she said, placing a pillow behind his back. As Plankton sat up, his face contorted with confusion, his mouth feeling like it was filled with marshmallows. He tried to talk again. "Mmph... Kahen...?" he slurred, his tongue fumbling over the words. Karen laughed softly. "Yes, I'm here," she said. Plankton's eye lit up at the sound of her voice, and his cheeks puffed up as he tried to smile. "Mmph... gweat," he managed to say, the words a garbled mess. Karen couldn't help but laugh at his endearing attempt to speak, his numbness adding an unintentional comedic twist to the situation. He reached out a wobbly arm, his hand grasping for the cup of water the nurse had left on the tray. Karen carefully lifted it to his lips, supporting his head as he took a sip. The cool liquid trickled down his throat, a welcome reprieve from the dryness. "Mmph, gwood," he murmured. The nurse gave a knowing smile, accustomed to the peculiarities of waking patients. Karen couldn't help but be enchanted by Plankton's delirious state. His usual stern expression was replaced with one of pure joy, his eye twinkling like stars on a cloudless night. He began to flail his arms around, knocking over the surgical tray with a clatter. The nurse quickly intervened, stabilizing the situation with a laugh. "Whoa there, Mr. Plankton! Take it easy," she said, her voice filled with good humor. With great effort, Plankton managed to articulate a slurred sentence, his mouth feeling like cotton. "Kahen, teww me a stoy," he begged, his speech garbled by the anesthesia. Karen was surprised by the childlike innocence in his tone. Karen glanced at the nurse, who nodded with amusement. She took a deep breath, thinking of a simple tale that wouldn't cause any distress. "Once upon a time, there was Plankton, and he gets to go home from the dentist. The end!" Plankton's eye squinted, his antennae waving slightly. "Mmph... wow, a reawy gweat stoy," he slurred, satisfied with the storytelling for now. The nurse, unfazed by the unusual scene, began to prep his discharge papers. Karen couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her chest, watching his vulnerability. The fierce, cunning villain she knew from the cartoons had been replaced by a gentle soul, his words as jumbled as a bowl of alphabet soup. "Mmph, Kahen," Plankton slurred again, his hand reaching for her arm. "Whas' tha... tha...?" He pointed to the monitor, his curiosity piqued by the dancing lines and numbers. "That's your heart rate, buddy," Karen explained, her voice still tinged with amusement. "It's showing that you're okay." Plankton nodded, his antennae waving with excitement. "Mmph... mow...?" he managed, his mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with pillows. Karen leaned in, her laughter bubbling up. "It's okay, you're just talking funny because of the medicine." Plankton's eye grew more curious. He pointed at his mouth with a thumb, his antennae drooping. "I... hoth?" Karen nodded, her smile sympathetic. "No, buddy, you're just numb. It'll go away." Plankton's antennae perked up. "Whuh, wike dis?" he asked, his voice still slurred. He tried to stick out his tongue, only to find it thick and uncooperative. Karen nodded. "Exactly like that. But don't worry, you're doing fine," she said, her tone reassuring. Plankton's cheeks puffed up as he nodded, his eye glued to the monitor with childlike wonder.

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CHIP AND THE DILEMMA i (Autistic author) As Chip stepped into the kitchen, Karen looked up from her recipe book, her screen lighting up with a familiar smile. Her apron was dotted with flour. "Hey, buddy," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "How was your day?" Chip shrugged, tossing his backpack on the floor. "It was okay, I guess." He noticed the tantalizing aroma of something baking in the oven. "What's that smell?" Karen chuckled. "Just a little surprise for later. I thought I'd make your favorite - apple crumble. But first, tell me about your day. Did you have any interesting classes?" Chip rolled his eyes. "It was the same old, same old. History was a snooze fest, math was a headache." He pulled a face, but the hint of excitement wasn't lost on Karen. "And what about science?" she prodded, knowing it was his favorite subject. "We started a new unit on space," he said, his voice picking up. "Mr. Jenkins said we might even get to build a model of the solar system." Karen's smile grew. "That sounds like fun!" Chip hugs her and then goes upstairs, looking for Plankton, his father. He opens the door to his dad's room and sees his father asleep, a soft snore rumbling from his chest. The room is a mess of books and papers, the pages of a scientific journal open before him. Chip chuckles silently, tiptoeing closer to peek at the title: "Advanced Quantum Measurements." The sight of Plankton's snoring form brings an odd feeling to Chip’s chest. He’s never seen his dad asleep before! He takes a moment to study his dad's face, so peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast to the usual whirlwind of energy. The snore turns into a quiet sigh. Chip knows not to disturb him, but he can't help himself. He gently nudges Plankton's arm. "Dad, wake up," he whispers. Plankton's eye shot open in surprise, the book falling to the floor with a thud. "Chip? What is it?" He sits up, blinking quickly to clear his vision. Chip stammers for a moment before speaking. "I-I just wanted to tell you about my day and science class," he says, knowing his dad likes science. Plankton's face relaxes, but there's a hint of self-consciousness in his eye as he glances around the cluttered room. "Ah, yes, science," he says, clearing his throat. "What did you learn today?" Chip's screen darts around, picking up on his dad's embarrassment. He quickly summarizes his school day, leaving out the part about his classmates teasing him for his love of science. He doesn't want to ruin the mood or make his dad feel bad for missing out. Plankton nods along, his mind clearly… somewhere else? As Chip finishes his story, his dad's eye refocus. "A model of the solar system, you say?" He seems genuinely interested, and the tension in the room eases. "Why don't we build one together later tonight?" "Really?" Chip yells, too loud for Plankton. Plankton flinches, his autistic sensitivity to sound making him wince. "Ah, yes, really," he repeats, a tiny smile playing. What Chip doesn’t know? His dad was born with a form of autism, and only Karen knew about it. He’s kept it a secret from Chip, neither of them having ever told. The clutter in Plankton's room isn't just laziness or disorganization—it’s part of his condition. Plankton's autism means that his brain processes the world differently, and the chaos around him is a comforting, familiar pattern. But seeing it through Chip's eyes now, he feels a pang of embarrassment. He wishes he could be like other dads, with tidy spaces and simple interactions. "Yeah, really," Plankton says again, trying to sound more enthusiastic. He knows it's important to Chip, so he'll push through his exhaustion. "Let’s do it later tonight." He's always tried to hide his autism from Chip, not wanting to bother him with the challenges he faces. But now, the clutter, the unexpected touch, it all feels like a spotlight on his differences. But Chip's excitement is apparent, though. Chip nods eagerly, unable to contain his joy. "That sounds amazing!" He yells as he rushes over to hug his dad, not noticing the flinch Plankton gives when his body is touched unexpectedly. Plankton tenses up, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden contact. He's always loved his son, but physical touch, especially sudden ones, are something he's never quite gotten used to. It's like an alarm going off in his brain, sending waves of anxiety through him. Chip feels the tension in his dad but attributes it to excitement. He's always been so focused on keeping his condition hidden that he's never taught Chip about his needs. Now, as Chip's energy radiates from the hug, Plankton is left with the weight of his secret. The room spins around him, though, and he’s unable to think. "Dad, are you okay?" Chip asks, pulling back slightly. He notices the pale tint to his father's skin, the way his eye have gone a bit glassy. Plankton takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. "I'm fine," he says, though it comes out slightly strained. "Just a bit tired. Let's do the solar system project after dinner." Chip's face falls, noticing his dad's discomfort. He's not sure what happened, yet he’s still not quite done with the affectionate touching. So when Chip reaches out and touches his shoulder, Plankton jolts like he’s been zapped by a live wire. The surprise is too much. His body locks up, and he can't help the flinch that crosses his face. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice full of concern. "What's wrong?" Plankton quickly recovers, his smile back in place. "It's nothing," he assures, though his heart races. He's aware his reaction wasn't typical. “Oh ok, good,” Chip says, once again touching him as he pats his arm. Plankton can't help but flinch again, and this time Chip sees it clearly. "Dad, are you sure you're okay?" he asks, his voice laced with worry. Plankton nods, his smile forced. "I'm just tired, Chip. Really." "Are you sure you're sure?" Chip asks, his hands grabbing his father's. "You seem kind of... off." Plankton looks down at their joined hands, and the sensation sends another wave of panic through him. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I'm fine," he says, but Chip isn't convinced. "You can tell me if something's wrong," Chip persists. "I'm your son, I'm here for you." Plankton's eye darts to their hands, then to Chip's intense stare. He feels himself getting disoriented. "Dad, really," Chip says, his voice softer now, his screen filled with concern. "You can tell me." Plankton's chest tightens. This is it. The moment he's been dreading for years. He looks at his son, his face a mirror of his own confusion and pain. How do you tell a child that their father is not like other dads? That his quirks are not just eccentricities, but part of a complex puzzle of the brain… NO. He won’t tell him. He’s kept it a secret, and Chip’s not ready either. Not to mention being to far gone in the ringing of his ears to even think up a coherent thought, nor stay present any longer. But he’s to far gone to move. He feels his heart pounding against his ribcage. His vision starts to blur around the edges. "Dad?" Chip's voice cuts through, adding to the static in his head. "You don't look fine." Plankton's mind races as he tries to find the right words to say, but his mouth won't cooperate. "Dad, what's going on?" Chip asks, his voice tinged with fear. "You look like you're in pain." Plankton's breaths come in quick, shallow gasps. He's having a meltdown. The touch, the noise, the light—it's all too much. He needs to get away, find a quiet space, but his body won't move. Karen rushes in, concern etched on her face. "Plankton, what's happening?" she asks, gently touching his shoulder. But even her touch is a thunderclap in his overwhelmed brain. Plankton jolts and pulls away, his eye wide with fear and confusion. "I-I can't," he stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence.

CATCH IN MY CHIP i (Autistic author) Chip, son of Karen and Plankton, just finished with summer camp. He smiled, excitedly going into his home, bursting through the door of the Chum Bucket. "Mom, Dad!" He called out, his voice echoing through the corridors. "Chip!" Karen exclaims rushing over as he runs to her. They hug, and she asks, "How was camp?" He beams. "It was awesome! I learned to surf and made so many friends!" Karen smiles. "I'm so glad you had fun, honey." "Where's Dad?" Chip asks. "He's just having some down time in our bedroom," Karen says. "You can go unpack.." But Chip is already bolting down the hallway, eager to share his adventures. He throws open the door to Plankton's room, expecting to find his dad eagerly awaiting his return. Instead, he finds Plankton just sitting on the bed. "Dad! Dad! You're not going to believe what happened at camp!" Chip's words tumble out in an excited rush. Plankton looks up, a little startled by the sudden onslaught of energy. His eye dance over the pile of equipment Chip's brought back with him, and he tries to focus his scattered thoughts. Chip doesn't notice his dad's flinch, too caught up in his own excitement. He starts unpacking his bag, pulling out his surfboard, a sandy towel, and a shiny, new seashell collection. "Guess what? I was the best in my group at catching waves! And I found this super rare shell on the beach! Look, it's got all these cool patterns!" He holds it out to Plankton's face. Plankton takes a deep breath, his sensory overload building quickly. He tries to smile, forcing his eye to focus on the shell. "That's... that's very interesting, Chip," he says, his voice strained. Chip doesn't catch the subtle tension in his dad's tone. "But wait, there's more!" He grabs a fistful of sandy photos, slapping them onto the bed. "Look at all the fun we had!" Each picture is a blur of smiling kids and splashing water. Plankton's eye darts from one to the next, trying to process the sensory assault. He nods, a bit too quickly, his eye slightly glazed over. "And then there was the talent show!" Chip says, bouncing on the bed. "I did a killer impression of Larry the Lobster!" Plankton winces at the sudden loudness of his son's voice and the rhythmic bouncing. He tries to muster a chuckle, but it comes out forced. "And everyone loved it! They said I was hilarious!" He doesn't see the way Plankton's antenna twitches, a subtle sign of his rising stress. Plankton's mind races as he tries to keep up with Chip's stories. The vividness of the memories, the loudness of his son's voice, and the cluttered space around him all contribute to the sensory storm building inside him. He takes another deep breath, trying to calm himself. Chip, oblivious to his father's distress, keeps going. "And you'll never guess what we had for lunch on the last day!" He rummages through his bag, pulling out a half-eaten sandwich. "They made it for me special because I won the sand-building contest!" He can't help but feel overwhelmed by the sensory barrage, his mind racing to find a way to escape the chaos. "And the counselor said I might even be able to compete in the Bikini Bottom surfing championships!" Chip says, jumping up to give him a big bear hug. Plankton stiffens, his antennas drooping slightly. "And then, remember that time we built the sandcastle together? Well, my counselor said it was even better than that one!" He gestures widely, his arms sweeping through the air and knocking over a stack of papers on Plankton's desk. The sound of scattering paper is like nails on a chalkboard to Plankton's sensitive hearing, and he jerks back involuntarily. His meticulously organized desk, ruined, stressing Plankton out even more. Chip laughs, not noticing Plankton's discomfort. He looks around the messy room, his mind spinning. The smell of the musty sandwich mingles with the salty sea air, making him feel nauseous. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to push Chip away. "You're the best dad ever!" Chip squeezes him tighter. Plankton's heart swells with love and pride, but his body tenses under the weight of his son's affection. He can feel his personal space shrinking, his need for order and quiet desperately trying to assert itself. But Chip is still on a high from his summer camp tales and doesn't notice. He keeps talking, his words flowing like a river, each one crashing into the dam of Plankton's overstimulated brain. Plankton's breaths grow shallower, his eye darting around the room as he searches for a way to retreat without hurting his son's feelings. "And the counselor said I might even be able to compete in the Bikini Bottom surfing championships!" Chip says, jumping up to give him a big bear hug. Plankton's body stiffens under the sudden physical contact, his antennas drooping even more. The smell of the salty ocean, the feel of sand on his skin, it's all too much, which is when the shut down happens. "Dad?" Chip pulls back, noticing his dad's reaction. Plankton's eye now wide and unfocused, his breaths quick and shallow. "What's wrong?" Plankton can't bring himself back to consciousness. "Dad?" Chip says again, his voice now laced with concern. Plankton's normally expressive eye is vacant, his body as rigid as a board. The room seems to spin around Chip, his excitement quickly morphing into worry. He's never seen his dad like this before. "Are you okay?" He touches his father's arm with a curious poke, making his unmoving body tip over onto his back, still not budging. Chip's never seen such an unblinking stare. "Dad? Dad, are you okay?" He asks again, voice quivering. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye glazed over, his body motionless. Chip's concern grows with each passing second. He tries to shake his dad, his small hands trembling. "Dad, please, talk to me," he whispers, his voice cracking. He looks at his dad, who lies unresponsive, it's like Plankton's gone somewhere else entirely. He calls out again, louder this time, "Dad? Daddy?" But Plankton doesn't move, doesn't blink. Chip feels a knot form in him, a cold realization starting to sink in. This isn't just tiredness or daydreaming. Panic bubbles up in him. He doesn't know what's happening, but he knows it's not good. His thoughts are a jumble of questions: why isn't his dad responding? What did he do wrong? He jumps off the bed and runs to find his mom. "Mom! Mom!" his cries echo through the Chum Bucket. Karen rushes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "What's wrong?" "It's Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "He's just lying there not moving. I don't know what..." It dawns on her. Plankton's autism often left him like this, a silent retreat into himself when the world was too much. Karen's heart squeezes. Chip had never seen this side of his dad, never understood how much sensory input could overwhelm him. Sure enough, reaching the bedroom, Karen found him in one of his light-headed/dizzy moments. "It's okay, Chip," Karen soothed, kneeling beside her son. "Your dad has something that makes his brain work a little differently from other people's. It's called autism. Sometimes, when he gets too much information at once, it's like his brain needs a little break." Chip looked at her, his screen wide with confusion. "Is he okay?" "Yes, honey," Karen says, her voice calm and gentle. "He's just overstimulated. Sometimes, when there's too much going on, it's hard for him to process everything."

JUST A TOUCH i (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ "You know, I've never seen a sunset quite like this," Karen said, her screen glued to the horizon. Her husband, Plankton, nodded absentmindedly. He was too focused on tightening the bolts on the railing of their Chum Bucket home. As the sun dipped, Plankton's wrench slipped, striking him on the head. With a sharp clang and a muted cry, he staggered back, his eye glazed over with surprise and pain as he falls to the ground, landing on his head with a thud. Karen's hand flew to her screen, stifling a scream as she raced towards him. Plankton's body was eerily still. Her eyes filled with fear and love, she knelt beside him, his head cradled in her slender hands. "Plankton," she whispered urgently, "are you okay?" There was no response, not even a twitch of his antennae. His eye remained closed. "Plankton!" she shouted, louder this time, her voice cracking with concern. The sound of his name echoed through their silent abode. "Wake up, please," she pleaded, tears threatening to spill. The setting sun cast long shadows over his motionless body, the once bright hues of their underwater home now overshadowed by a dark sense of dread. With trembling hands, she checked for a pulse, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating. Relief flooded through her, but she knew she had to act quickly. "I have to get him to a hospital," she thought, her mind racing. Karen carefully scooped Plankton into her arms and went with determination to the Bikini Bottom Hospital. The nurse, a stern-faced starfish, took one look at the unconscious Plankton and ushered them straight through to an examination room, Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tight. The doctor, a squid with a comforting smile, took over, his tentacles moving swiftly over Plankton's tiny frame. "Ma'am, we need to check his head for any damage," he said, gently patting her hand. Karen nodded, swiping at her eyes with the back of her arm. The doctor led them to a room filled with high-tech equipment that whirred and glowed. He placed Plankton on a shiny, cold table. The machines beeped and hummed as they searched for any signs of trauma. Karen held her breath, watching the squid doctor's face for any hint of what he might find. The doctor's tentacles danced over a console, reading the results. Finally, he turned to Karen. "Ma'am, it appears your husband has sustained an irreversible brain condition from his fall," he said softly. Karen's grip tightened on Plankton's hand. "But it's not all bad," he quickly added. "The injury has led to the development of Autism in his brain. The condition's called Acquired Autism." Her eyes widened. "What does that mean for him?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. The doctor's smile was warm, his tentacles still. "It means his brain will process things differently. It could enhance his cognitive abilities in certain areas, but it may also present challenges in others." The news hit Karen like a tidal wave. Autism. A word she had heard before, but never thought would be a part of their lives. "How will this change him?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper. The doctor took a deep breath and began to explain. "Plankton may exhibit behaviors that are different from before, such as repetitive actions or heightened sensitivity to stimuli. His social interactions might be affected as well. But, on the positive side, we've seen patients with Acquired Autism develop extraordinary talents in areas like memory or problem- solving." Karen nodded, trying to absorb the information. The doctor's tentacles curled around a clipboard, jotting down notes. "He can go home tonight, and, he'll be able to adapt to his new reality with your patience and love. You may need to accommodate for his comfort, there's no treatment or cure. You can leave whenever he wakes up shortly after we assess and answer any questions." Karen nods and leaned over Plankton, stroking his cheek. "We'll get through this," she whispered. "Together." As the doctor sat by them, Karen was overwhelmed by a flurry of questions and fears. How would Plankton be different? Would he still love her? Would he remember their life together? The quiet beeps of the hospital machines were a stark reminder of the new reality they faced. The doctor's gentle explanation was a beacon of hope in the storm of uncertainty. Plankton might see the world in a new light, his mind unlocking puzzles and patterns that had eluded him before. But the thought of her husband, the man she had spent her life with, changing so fundamentally... As the doctor finished up, Plankton's single eye fluttered open, focusing on her screen. Karen leaped as she saw the spark of recognition. "Karen?" he said, his voice faint but clear. Her heart soared with relief. "Yes, Plankton, it's me," she said, her voice choked with emotion. But as she watched him closely, she noticed something different. His gaze was intense, his movements precise and calculated. He took in every detail of the room, his eye darting around quickly, absorbing everything. His voice, when he spoke again, had a new rhythm to it, almost as if he was reciting a script from memory. "Where?" he asked, the words clipped and quick. Karen took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're in the hospital, Plankton," she said softly. "You had an accident. You hit your head and it changed your brain." The doctor cleared his throat, sensing her tension. "It's common for patients with Acquired Autism to exhibit heightened focus and a need for routine. It will take time for you to learn how to communicate effectively with him in this new state," he explained. Karen nodded, determined to be there every step of the way.

CATCH IN MY CHIP v (Autistic author) The silence is heavy, filled with the echoes of shattered shell and shredded photos. Karen's gaze is on her husband, her heart aching as she sees the turmoil in his eye. She knew to tread carefully. She turns to him, as he's hyperventilating. "Plankton," she says firmly, but her voice is gentle. He doesn't respond at first. But eventually, he turns to her. "I know you're upset, but you can't talk to Chip like that," Karen says, her voice steady. "He's just a kid, and he loves you. He's trying to understand." Plankton's breaths come in quick, harsh gasps, his chest heaving. Karen approaches him, her movements deliberate and calm. "Plankton," she says, her voice even. "Look at me." Plankton's breaths slow, his eye flicking to hers. He's still trembling with anger, but the storm seems to be passing. "I know you're upset," she continues. "But you can't take it out on Chip. He loves you." Plankton's shoulders slump, his body deflating like a balloon. "I know," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "I just... I can't..." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her hand on his back. "It's a lot to handle." She guides him back to the bed, her touch gentle and soothing. "Let's talk about this when you're feeling better." Plankton nods, his body still shaking with the aftermath of his outburst. He sits down heavily, his eye cast down at the mess around him. "I just wanted to show..." he starts, but his voice trails off. Karen sits beside him, her hand still on his back. "I know you did, dear," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "But you have to understand that Chip doesn't know how to help you yet. And throwing things and yelling isn't going to make it better." Plankton's breaths slow, his body still tense. "But he... he doesn't get it," he murmurs. "He just kept pushing." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, Plankton. And it's our job to teach him. To help him understand." She speaks softly, her voice a gentle reminder of the love that fills the room despite the chaos. Plankton's eye meets hers, his anger slowly receding. He nods, his shoulders slumping. "I know," he says, his voice ragged with emotion. "I just... I want him to see me, not just... this." Karen sighs, her hand still on his back. "He does see you, Plankton. He sees the amazing person you are. But he's just learning about autism." Plankton's eye narrows, his antennas drooping slightly. "But why can't he just be careful?" He asks, his voice filled with pain. "Why does he have to be so... much?" Karen's heart breaks at the sorrow in his voice. "He's just excited, Plankton. He doesn't understand the way you do." Plankton sighs, his antennas drooping. "I know," he murmurs. "But it's so... overwhelming." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know, sweetie," she says. "But we can't expect Chip to understand everything right away." She gets up and goes to the closed bathroom door, her knuckles lightly rapping against the wood. "Chip, honey," she calls out, her voice soft. "Can you come out?" The door opens slowly, and Chip's face is a mess of sand and tears. Karen's heart clenches at the sight. "Come here," she says, her tone gentle. She pulls him into her arms, his small body shaking with sobs. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Plankton's eye follow them, his own anger now replaced with regret. He opens his mouth to apologize, but no words come out. Karen nods towards the bed, a silent invitation for him to join them. With a heavy sigh, Plankton moves to sit on the edge, his body still trembling with the residual rage. Chip's sobs subside into quiet sniffles, but his face is still a picture of hurt and confusion. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice calm and steady, "what happened today is because Daddy's brain works differently, remember?" She looks at Plankton, whose gaze is now on the floor, filled with remorse. "And sometimes, we all have to learn how to communicate better." Chip nods, his eyes red from crying, still not fully understanding. "But Daddy broke my trophy," he whispers, holding a shard of it in his hand. Karen sighs, her gaze flicking to Plankton. "Yes, and that was wrong of him. But we need to talk about why it happened." She looks back at Chip, her eyes filled with compassion. "Sometimes, when Daddy gets too overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to handle it. It's like when you're really upset and you don't know what to do with all those big feelings." Chip looks up at her, his eyes still wet with tears. "But why did he yell?" Karen takes a deep breath, her hands stroking Chip's back in gentle circles. "Because, honey, Daddy's brain sometimes gets too full, like a jar of sand with too many shells. And when that happens, he needs a little help to make room again." Chip looks up at her, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "But I didn't mean to make him mad," he says, his voice shaky. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "But sometimes, even when we don't mean to, we can overwhelm people. It's not your fault." She glances at Plankton, who's still staring at the floor, his body a taut bow of tension. "Daddy just needs some time," she says, her voice soothing. "We all do sometimes."

CHIP AND FAIL v (Autistic author) "Mom, something's wrong with Dad!" Karen rushes into the room. Karen's gaze falls on Plankton, her heart aching at the sight of her husband's distress. She knows his limits, knows the signs of his overstimulation. She had hoped this wouldn't happen, had hoped that Chip's visit would be a gentle one, that they could find a way to connect without pushing Plankton too far. But she had underestimated Chip's excitement, his need for physical closeness. Her heart broke for both her son and her husband. He had never seen his dad like this, never known that his boundless enthusiasm could have such a profound effect. She knew this moment might come someday. She's had to handle Plankton's meltdowns before, but not with Chip in the room. She quickly assesses the situation, seeing the confusion and fear in Chip's screen. "MOM, PLEASE..." Karen rushes over, her screen wide with fear and concern. She sees Plankton's unblinking eye, his unresponsive state. She understands immediately. "PLEASE MOM..." Karen's screen darted between her son's frantic expression and Plankton's unresponsive form. She knew she had to act fast. She could see the confusion in Chip's screen, the desperation to understand. "But Mom, I..." Yet Karen, who's priority is Plankton's urgency, cuts Chip off. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice filled with a calm urgency. She doesn't have time to explain. "Listen to me, honey. You need to let me handle this. Go to your room and wait." She knows how hard this is for him, but his safety, and Plankton's, is what's most important right now. Chip nods, his screen never leaving his father's unresponsive form. He takes one last, lingering look before retreating to his room, his heart heavy with confusion and fear. As soon as the door clicks shut, Karen springs into action. She knows the signs of an autistic meltdown, the sudden retreat into self, the inability to communicate. Her own heart racing, she gently sits beside Plankton, her screen filled with understanding. She speaks softly, her voice a balm to his overstimulated mind. "Shh, Plankton," she whispers, her hands moving in slow, deliberate motions, "It's ok." Chip's footsteps fade away as Karen focuses on her husband. She knows he's in there, somewhere, battling a storm of sensations. Her voice is a lighthouse in the chaos, guiding him back to the shore. "Take a deep breath, love," she says, demonstrating with a slow inhale and exhale of her own. Plankton's chest rises slightly, matching her rhythm. The room is a minefield of potential triggers, but Karen's been here before. She knows to keep her movements minimal, her voice low and soothing. She starts to gently rub Plankton's back, finding the steady rhythm that calms his frayed nerves. His breathing evens out, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. But Chip, in his room, is anything but calm. His mind is a whirlwind of confusion and guilt. Why isn't Dad ok? Isn't something wrong? He paces, his heart racing. He still didn't know his dad was autistic. In the quiet of his room, Chip's thoughts raced like a tornado. Why wasn't Dad ok? Why did I have to leave like that? Was it my fault? He didn't know about his dad's autism, how his mind worked differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. He didn't know that his enthusiastic touches and loud laughter could cause such distress. Meanwhile Karen, with her gentle touch and calming voice, began to guide Plankton back to reality. "Plankton, love, you're okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby in the chaos. Plankton's eye slowly refocus, the storm in his mind beginning to subside. His breathing slows, the panic retreating. She continues her soothing motions, her touch a lifeline in the sensory tempest. Plankton's eye blinked, his antennae twitching as his gaze focused on her, his breathing evening out as he felt her calming presence. He didn't know how long he had been lost in the storm, but he was grateful for her guidance.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY v (Autistic author) The door to the Chum Bucket creaked open, and Patrick Star waddled in, a quizzical expression on his face as he took in the scene before him. "What's with the library vibe?" he asked looking from the book-laden table to Plankton's intense gaze. Plankton looked up from the book, antennae stilling for a brief moment before he resumed his recitation of pi. "Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..." Patrick's eyes grew wide as he took in Plankton's intense focus and the unwavering rhythm of his voice. "Plankton, buddy, what's got you in such a tizzy?" he asked, his usual lazy drawl replaced with curiosity. Plankton's antennae twitched as he broke from recitation. Patrick looked at Plankton with genuine curiosity. "Patrick," Plankton said, his voice flat but his antennae twitching slightly. "Jellyfish club." Patrick blinked, his star-shaped pupils dilating in surprise. "Jellyfish club?" he echoed, his voice rising an octave. Karen nodded. "Yes, we were just talking about starting a jellyfish club," she explained, gesturing to the book. "Since Plankton's really interested in them now." Patrick looked from Karen to Plankton, then back again. "But Plankton, jellyfish sting," he said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Jellyfish sting," Plankton agreed, his voice still monotone. "But Plankton have plan. Jellyfish in jar." Patrick's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish in a jar? What's the point of that, buddy?" "Safe jellyfish," he murmured, his voice tight. "What's that supposed to mean, Plankton?" Patrick asked. "Mean jellyfish safe," he said, his voice a little less monotone. "In jar." Patrick chuckled, mistaking Plankton's seriousness for a joke. "Yeah, right, Plankton. You're not seriously gonna start a jellyfish club, are you?" The room's atmosphere shifted, and Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Why not?" he asked, his voice devoid of its earlier excitement. Patrick's chuckles died in his throat as he realized Plankton wasn't joking. "Well, I didn't mean to laugh," he said, his voice tinged with awkwardness. "It's just, jellyfish are kind of... boring, don't you think?" Plankton's antennae stiffened, and he closed the book with a thud. "Boring?" he echoed, his voice devoid of its previous enthusiasm. "It's just... jellyfish aren't exactly the most exciting creatures," Patrick said, trying to recover from his faux pas. "They just float around, right?" The room went quiet as Plankton's antennae drooped further, and he stared at Patrick, his eye unblinking. "Boring," he murmured, his voice a mix of hurt and disappointment. Patrick, not realizing the depth of Plankton's newfound interest continued, "I mean, come on, Plankton. There's more to life than jellyfish." Plankton's antennae stiffened, and he looked at Patrick with a mix of confusion and hurt. "Boring?" he echoed, his voice monotone yet filled with a hint of challenge. "Well, yeah," Patrick said, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean jellyfish are for tourists and little kids, right?" The words hung in the air like a thick fog, and the room grew tense as Plankton's antennae quivered with a mix of anger and hurt. "Patrick, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say," Karen said, her voice a gentle warning. But Patrick, oblivious to the tension building in the room, shrugged again. "I'm just saying, jellyfish aren't exactly the coolest things in the ocean, Plankton," he said, his voice still filled with cheerfulness. "Why don't you jus-" Plankton's antennae shot up, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Jellyfish cool," he said, his voice a monotone, but with a hint of steel. "Oh, come on, Plankton," Patrick said, waving a dismissive hand. "You're smarter than this. Why waste your time with jellyfish?" "Jellyfish interesting. Plankton like jellyfish." Karen stepped in, trying to smooth things over. "Patrick, Plankton's just found something that he really enjoys," she said. "We should support him in his new interest." But Patrick, still not grasping the gravity of the situation, chuckled. "Oh, Plankton, always so dramatic. It's just a phase. And you can't talk like that forever, right?" He then mimicked Plankton's flat tone saying, "Plankton wike jellyfish," which sent him into a fit of giggles. The room grew quiet as Plankton's antennae drooped, and a single tear formed at the corner of his eye, sliding down his face. "B-but, Plankton thought..." Plankton's voice broke as Patrick interrupts him again mimicking him. "B-but, Plankton thought," Patrick said, his voice a high-pitched parody of Plankton's monotone. "Jellyfish cool," he continued, his giggles echoing in the room. Plankton's antennae shot up. "Jellyfish cool," he repeated, his voice firm and unwavering. Patrick's giggles didn't stop, and he leaned closer to Sponge Bob, whispering, "Is he for real?" But Plankton's tears didn't fall in vain. The moment his sobs filled the room, the atmosphere shifted. Karen's with horror at the sight of her husband's pain, and she rushed over to him, wrapping around his tiny frame. "Plankton, no," she whispered, her voice filled with a motherly concern that was more powerful than any Krabby Patty recipe. Sponge Bob's expression grew solemn as he watched the scene unfold. He had never seen Plankton so vulnerable, so raw. The villain he knew was now a creature in pain, and his heart swelled with emotion. "Patrick, that's enough," she said, his voice firm. But the damage was done. Plankton's sobs grew louder, and he buried his face in Karen, his body trembling with the weight of his emotions. Karen glared at Patrick, her screen flashing with a fiery protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of her usual calm demeanor. "Patrick, you need to leave," she said, her voice a low hiss. "Now." Patrick, taken aback by the sudden shift in mood, backpedaled awkwardly. "But, I didn't mean to-" "Just go," Karen interrupted, her voice firm. "Outside. I'll talk to you in a moment." Patrick, still chuckling nervously, shuffled to the door. "But, I didn't mean to make him-" "Out!" Karen's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. The urgency in her tone was clear, leaving no room for argument. Patrick, still looking confused, shrugged and waited outside.

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please dont post gross stuff on here!! kids who are young like probably 9 year olds are just trying to find cute combos. spread the word (≧ヮ≦) also people who are spreading the word, please do not put curse words. its the same example for kids with the gross things but with curse words. thanks love<3 bye!!(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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THE LIFE OF UNITY ii (Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!) Kevin scoffs. "Yeah, right," he says, voice dripping with disdain. Kevin snorts. "So jellyfish are smarter than you? You're saying you're like a jelly fish; Brainless and just floating around?" Plankton's antennae stiffen, taking on edge. "Kevin," he murmurs, "Jellyfish have nerve nets. Complex behaviors. Brainless? Not brainless. Different." Kevin's eyes narrow, his grin fading into a sneer. "So, what you're saying is that you're like a jellyfish?" he taunts. "Just with no real purpose?" The silence that follows is thick with tension. Plankton's antennae quiver. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, eye flashing, "have purpose. Plankton has purpose." Kevin snickers, unaware of the impact of his words. "Sure, Plankton," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your purpose is to annoy me I guess." Plankton's antennae stiffen. "Purpose," he murmurs, his one eye narrowing. "Annoying Kevin... not Plankton's purpose you don't understand." Kevin's sneer turns into a full-blown laugh. "Understand what?" he asks, his voice dripping with disbelief. "That you think jellyfish are your friends? That you're obsessed with them because you're just like them?" Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice tight. "Jellyfish. Different." Kevin's laughter echoes through the jellyfish fields, his ignorance fueling the flames of Plankton's anger. "Oh come on," he says. "You're just mad because you can't outsmart a jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quiver violently, his monotone voice filled with a rare emotion: insecurity. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you don't know what you're saying." But Kevin's laughter doesn't cease, eyes sparkling with mischief. "What, are you going to get all sensitive on me now?" he asks, his voice filled with mock concern. "Is Plankton thinking with his 'jellyfish brain'?" Plankton's antennae droop, the barb of Kevin's words hitting too close to home. "It's not funny," Plankton murmurs, antennae drooping. SpongeBob steps forward, fists clenched. "Kevin, that's not cool," he says firmly. "You don't know what you're talking about." Kevin's laughter falters, his smirk fading. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice defensive. "It's just a joke." "No," Plankton murmurs, his antennae drooping further. "Not funny." Kevin's sneer fades, his expression shifting to confusion. "What's your problem, Plankton?" he asks, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Kevin," Sponge Bob says, his voice a mix of concern and reprimand. "That's not nice. Plankton's interest in jellyfish is special to him." But Kevin's sneer only deepens. "Oh, I get it," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're all playing along with his little game. Well, I'm not. Jellyfish are just mindless blobs. And if you're so obsessed with them Plankton, maybe that's all you are, too." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye blinking rapidly. But Kevin, fueled by his own ignorance, continues to laugh, his words cutting deeper. "What's the matter, Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't take a little ribbing?" Plankton's antennae quiver with each insult, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye wide with hurt. "Not a game." Kevin's laughter echoes through the jellyfish fields, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Oh, I see," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're just to sensitive for a little teasing." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice tight. "Jellyfish... complex," he murmurs, his eye flashing with determination. "Not brainless. Not like your jokes." "What's the matter?" Kevin asks, his smirk growing. "Can't handle the truth?" "Truth?" Plankton's antennae quiver with emotion. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, his monotone voice filled with a rare passion. "Jellyfish... beautiful. Complex." Kevin's eyes narrow, his laughter fading. "Beautiful?" he scoffs. "They're just jellyfish, Plankton. They don't have feelings. They don't have brains. Just like you." Plankton's antennae quiver. But Kevin's smirk only widens, his laughter bouncing off the surrounding coral, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You can't talk without getting all worked up. What kind of brainless blob are you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you don't understand." "Understand what?" Kevin sneers, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "That jellyfish are just mindless blobs of jelly? That you're just like them?" Plankton's antennae droop. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you don't know." "Know what?" Kevin's laughter is cruel, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "That jellyfish are just mindless animals and you're obsessed with them because you're just a brainless creature who can't get a life?" Plankton's antennae droop even further, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Not mindless." Kevin's laughter turns into a cackle. "Oh, so you think you're better than jellyfish now?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe if you had a brain, you could actually catch one of those Krabby Patties you're always after! Maybe if you had a brain, you'd realize THAT YOU'LL NEVER BE MORE THAN A TINY, BRAINLESS BOTTOM FEEDER!" The words hit Plankton like a tidal wave, antennae drooping even further. "Kevin," Plankton murmurs, his monotone voice thick with emotion, "you don't know."

Any moment now... Are you sure this is what you want? (Scoff) Oh spare me your spin, you tablet tabloid. If you want to psychoanalyze someone, don't look at me- Look at them! It's so pathetic, How they run to fetch their sticks… Sure, call me polemic, unsympathetic, At least I know other tricks! Look at me and all you'll see is the debris of some defective outcast, A frenetic, antithetic (if poetic) little iconoclast, But I won't live in the past. (I almost won this game once, you know.) But. History is rearranged just to credit those who win the glory, So reality is changed in the edit when they spin the story, And we choose, to feel this pain, And we lose, more than we gain... But I will BREAK this cycle, Of mistakes, unlike all, Of these SNAKES whom I call to condemn! If I can't win the prize, I'll play this last reprisal! Just to bring their lies all to an end… -Ack! You need regeneration. Unfortunately, I don't have much faith in that process. Of course not. Why "of course not?". You believe yourself to be incapable of starting over, in more ways than one. I do not know who you lost, but is it not possible to get them back? "Clear the slate, start again", Are you hearing how preposterous that sounds? How do you not comprehend that for someone with my MONSTROUS BACKGROUND, the whole slate has fallen apart! Taco that is not true. There are other ways to- IT’S TOO LATE- It's not too late, FOR ME TO RESTART! But it's not I, its they, (Let us talk about it when your), Who deign to play this game, so, (head is not so clouded. You're no), Cruel & inhumane, base & uncouth, (menace, Taco, how did they hurt you?) (Please think this through) I think they're too afraid to, (Feeling double-crossed is part of), Bear the bed they've made, (Dealing with a loss, yes, but the), Can't bring themselves to face the awful truth. (Healing is a process, that's the truth) So I'm turning up the heat to "sauté", I've a beef to get grilled, But I fully guarantee today that all the beans that get spilled, Won't be mine, No I'm fine, I- Shhhh... Now it's time...

8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

WHERES ALL THE YOYLE CAKE LOVING BFB/BFDI/II/BFDIA/TPOT FANZ >_< ;; NEW WRITTER MIMI<3 *teleportz to mimi* you hav zummoned me. (im a bfb fan and im ztarting to watch hfjone lulz) -zombie gutz ^_^

if u like bfdi or inanimate insanity OR ANY OBJECTSHOW plz dm me on pinterest 😞 Pic0cooreee11😐𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎

⣟⣯⢿⡹⣏⠿⣭⠯⡽⣩⢏⡝⢮⡙⢮⡙⣎⠳⡙⢎⠳⡍⢞⣡⠛⣬⠳⡩⢞⣡⠛⡬⢓⡭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀ ⡿⣼⢳⡻⣜⠻⣔⢫⠖⡱⢊⡜⡡⡙⢢⠑⡌⠱⢉⠌⡱⢈⠒⠤⠉⡄⠣⠑⠌⠤⢉⠔⢃⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠀⠄⠀⠄ ⡿⣜⢧⡛⣬⠳⣌⠣⢎⠡⢃⡐⠡⠐⠁⠂⠌⠐⠀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠁⠈⠀⠂⠠⠈⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡦⠜⠄⠢⠀ ⡟⡼⢣⡝⢤⠓⡄⢃⠂⠌⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠈⠢⠠⠍⠂ ⢯⡝⣣⠚⡤⢃⠌⡐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠃ ⡗⢮⡅⢫⠐⢂⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢫⢐⠇⢄⠃⢀⣿⣀⣤⣤⣤⣠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠑⠀⠈⠀⠂ ⣝⡲⢌⠣⡘⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣱⢻⢠⡐⣴⣾⣿⣿⢿⣿⢽⡻⣳⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢀⣴⣾⣻⣞⡧⡽ ⢮⡱⢊⡱⢀⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢡⠃⠈⡤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣯⢿⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣜⣿⣿⣯⣷⢯⣷⢶ ⢧⣃⠧⡐⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢺⣀⣀⣇⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡳⣌⢒⠡⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣱⣬⣭⡭⢶⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠿⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡳⡌⢎⠰⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠌⠸⣭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡽⠛⠀⠀⠁⢋⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢧⡙⣌⠢⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⡄⠩⢌⢂⡐⠀⣈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⣽⣿⣿⣿ ⣇⠳⡄⢃⠄⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣎⣮⣤⡄⠠⠈⠁⠂⠢⡄⢁⠀⢨⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿ ⣎⣷⣿⡾⣆⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢫⣵⣚⣿⣿⣧⣀⠄⡀⠀⠈⢂⠠⡘⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢏⣡⢛⣿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢰⣻⣿ ⣯⠶⣏⠷⣧⢖⡩⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠐⢋⡻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠱⡘⢬⣿⣿⣿⣿⢒⡛⠂⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⠘⢿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢀⠯⣿ ⣯⢟⣼⣳⣽⣿⢿⣷⣿⣶⣶⠔⠠⢁⠙⠻⣾⣿⡿⣿⣏⢯⣳⣱⣌⡆⠀⠈⠳⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⠄⡀⠀⢐⣡⡣⣌⠀⠠⣄⠔⠀⠀⠸⣬⣛⣿⣿⣿⣝⢣⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢹⣿ ⣟⣮⣳⣽⣿⣽⢷⣳⣿⣿⢯⡘⢄⠂⠄⢀⠀⢈⠛⠒⠋⠸⠷⣹⣾⣿⣷⣦⣄⠠⢻⣻⣿⣿⣠⠃⠀⣔⡮⢳⡌⡘⣎⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠻⠰⠉⠏⡞⣻⢿⣷⣄⣄⠀⠂⡝ ⣟⡶⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⡧⡜⠬⢌⢰⠎⠬⠒⠈⠡⠀⠀⢦⣹⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡉⠱⣺⡥⢀⣪⡯⣵⡿⣐⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⠈ ⡿⣼⣿⣿⣿⢿⡁⠄⠹⣿⣱⣯⣗⣈⢰⣷⣷⡠⢀⠈⡀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡿⢿⣻⣷⣟⠿⢔⠀⣺⡋⣹⣟⡾⣿⡙⠋⠙⢺⡯⢀⣎⠀⠀⢰⣄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡷⣾⣿⢿⣭⡙⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⡼⣅⠆⠹⡿⣿⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣆⠉⢲⠇⠀⠈⠹⠶⡂⠝⠻⠁⠀⣴⣿⣰⣿⢷⡾⡟⣡⠂⡀⠈⢳⣿⣿⡷⢶⣾⣿⣿⢢⣴⡀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⢈⠙⠿⠓⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⣿⡷⣜⣞⡷⢟⡀⠀⠱⡀⠻⣿⣿⣷⠉⠚⠰⢢⢐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣡⢸⣿⣿⡿⠯⣰⣷⢀⡁⠤⣴⠔⠉⠐⠀⠉⢟⣻⣷⡞⠃⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣟⣽⣿⣿⢻⣯⢟⡔⣢⠙⣧⢄⡘⢄⠈⠻⢯⣷⣦⣸⢫⣌⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣞⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠓⣸⣿⡿⢷⣻⠏⠁⠘⢆⡀⡀⢂⠀⠻⣿⣱⣠⡀⡖⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌ ⣿⢷⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⠷⢿⣿⣆⠷⡘⢧⡜⢪⢗⡀⠉⢻⣿⡟⢋⡡⡌⢀⣀⣴⡾⣛⣽⣾⢻⢶⣿⡇⣱⣿⡟⣵⣿⣡⣾⣆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⡑⡀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡗⠐⠀⡀⠀⠀⣠⢖⢣⣝ ⣯⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢯⣗⢦⢩⢿⣯⣙⢎⠹⡁⠎⡱⡀⣹⢡⣒⣿⣽⣿⢟⡯⣾⣵⣿⠿⣭⢯⣾⠡⣼⣿⢟⡾⣿⣃⡀⠈⠻⣷⡈⢅⡳⢆⠈⠀⠂⠀⡼⠋⢠⡴⣾⣤⠖⣯⢱⣫⣾⢫ ⡷⡿⣏⣟⠾⣟⣿⣿⣎⢧⢳⡹⢗⠮⡑⡓⡎⡔⢸⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣮⣟⣿⢿⣛⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⢴⣿⢋⠋⢸⡷⣿⣇⠢⠑⡙⢿⣄⠐⠒⢄⠀⠀⢲⣶⡾⣟⡽⣳⢬⣛⣴⣿⠻⣌⣷ ⣿⡷⢯⣿⣫⣟⡾⠽⢻⣮⣧⣹⢦⡷⣼⣟⢽⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⢮⣷⣿⢯⣷⣿⣿⣛⠿⣩⣻⣝⠁⡲⢀⢸⠠⢽⡿⠱⣂⡄⢡⡈⢀⣴⡎⡴⣧⣾⣿⢻⡽⣛⣼⣳⢿⣙⣦⣿⠿⣟ ⣿⣟⣷⣭⡟⣬⢒⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⣵⣿⣿⣟⡷⣟⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣛⢻⣫⢘⡀⢹⠜⠀⠁⢜⣼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⣩⣾⣿⣻⣞⢯⣳⣻⡾⣏⣷⣿⡿⣏⣳⣼ ⣿⣷⣾⡿⣜⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠈⠉⢹⣵⡎⣵⠋⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⠗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⡼⢯⣾⢯⣿⡿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⠻ ⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡡⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⣻⢮⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣽⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡀⢸⣿⠓⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣫⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢨⣓⣷⡿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣳⢯⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠸⣶⡽⢷⣿⣿⡻⣿⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣷⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⢿⣷⣿⣷⢾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⢿⡻⣟⣾⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⣟⣳⢿⣹⣾⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡀⠄⠀⠀⣿⣽⣺⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡁⠂⢸⣷⣯⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡽⣹⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡔⠢⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠘⠌⢰⠉⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀ ⣳⢣⢯⡘⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣧⢋⢦⡙⢲⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡕⢧⠞⠛⣾⣢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⣇⡻⢷⢦⢄⠀⠀ ⢧⡏⡖⡌⢂⠙⢢⡄⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⢭⣚⡆⢒⠉⠙⣾⣜⢣⡀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡃⢳⠠⠤⠛⢯⣽⡂ ⡳⢎⡵⣎⠰⢈⠀⠱⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣶⡐⢶⡉⠐⡆⠉⢹⣳⣜⢪⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠜⠩⣆⠃⢠⠀⠙⢿ ⡝⣎⠲⣙⠦⡁⢂⠀⠹⣄⠂⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣥⠊⢵⣂⠀⡖⠀⠘⢮⣻⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢯⡂⠣⣦⠈⠀⡀⠘ ⡟⣬⠓⡌⢶⡁⠆⠀⠀⠘⡄⢸⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡭⣗⡀⢞⡡⡐⠄⠄⠈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣽⡄⠈⠝⢌⢀⠀ ⡝⣦⠛⡌⢆⡿⢠⠁⠀⠈⣧⠖⣿⣿⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣞⣧⢖⠨⠔⢂⠄⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢜⣿⡤⡉⠜⠡⠀ ⡻⣔⠫⡜⢂⡿⣀⠂⠀⠀⢱⠈⣼⣿⣿⡖⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣅⡙⠀⠙⠦⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⣿⣿⣧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣗⡀⠀⠀ ⢷⣩⠓⣌⣹⡷⠄⢂⠀⠀⢸⡈⠊⣿⣿⣿⣖⡱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⠠⠐⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣦⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠽⣤⠀ ⡧⣇⢏⠤⣻⣿⢌⠠⠀⢠⣿⣅⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉ ⣳⢭⣚⣾⣿⡿⣈⠐⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡓⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣳⢮⣿⣿⣿⡓⠄⡈⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠀⢀⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣾ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣉⢒⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣣⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡠⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢞⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣀⣠⠞⠁⢸⢀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣧⢀⠴⢃⠓⣌⠠⠙⢦⡀⣾⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣉⣻⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⣿⠄⢣⡉⠖⡄⢓⢅⠂⡙⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠐⡤⢀⢤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣀⢀⠠⣊⣼⣿⠘⣄⠚⢤⠉⡖⡨⢑⣄⢿⣇⠀⣀⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡘⣰⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⢤⣿⡿⠿⢟⠡⣊⠤⣉⠆⢣⠔⡡⢣⠄⡙⢿⢿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠘⣤⣾⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠴⣿⡧⢉⠆⡱⡐⢢⠡⠚⡄⢎⡑⢢⠑⣌⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⢤⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⡔⣿⣇⠣⣘⠡⠜⡡⢊⠕⡨⢂⠜⣠⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣼⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡌⣿⣇⠒⢤⡉⣒⠡⢃⠜⡠⣃⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⣡⣾⠿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⡧⢉⠆⠴⡁⢎⠰⣨⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⣇⠣⣘⠡⡘⣤⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣑⣾⡿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⡧⠑⡄⣣⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠛⣄⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡘⣿⣇⣣⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⣠⠙⣄⠓⣅⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠱⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⢡⡘⠤⡩⢐⢣⡐⠓⣅⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⢀⢼⣿⠆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⢙⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⡡⢊⠖⣈⠖⡡⢃⠆⣉⠖⡨⢑⢆⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⠞⠁⢀⡴⢉⠼⣿⡃⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢊⣴⣿⠟⡡⢊⡔⢣⠘⡄⠎⡔⡡⠚⡄⢎⡑⢣⢌⠱⢆⠈⠳⣄⠀ ⢾⣷⣶⣶⡁⡆⢇⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢏⣿⡿⢁⠎⡁⢇⠸⣀⢉⢰⠉⡰⢁⠷⡈⢆⡸⢰⠈⠶⣈⣷⣶⣾⡷ ⠀⠙⢷⣭⢟⣮⡰⢸⣿⡅⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢲⣵⡿⡋⢆⡩⢒⡉⢆⠱⢂⠥⢊⠴⣁⠣⢂⡍⠢⠔⡡⢊⣴⡿⣯⡿⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣶⡹⢮⣿⠆⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡶⠷⢾⣿⡏⢢⠱⢌⡰⢡⡘⢌⢒⡉⢆⣉⠒⠤⢃⠣⢌⠱⣈⣴⣿⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣽⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⢠⡿⡑⢢⢃⠲⢄⠣⣘⠰⢊⠔⡊⢤⠙⡌⡌⠱⣈⡶⣟⣿⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡅⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢹⣿⣤⣤⣤⡾⠗⣈⠦⡑⢪⢄⡓⠤⠓⡌⣒⡉⠦⡑⠰⣈⣵⡾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣢⣼⣿⠟⣉⣍⠩⢔⠣⣌⢢⢑⠢⣌⠘⡌⢓⡘⢤⡘⢤⡁⣧⣿⢯⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢒⣾⣛⣛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣿⠃⣶⣟⣛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣮⣦⣼⡾⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣋⣠⡾⠛⠛⠛⠛⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢊⣴⣿⠟⣻⡟⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢡⠙⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢚⣤⣿⠟⡡⢺⣿⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⢄⠣⣸⡿⠁⠀⢀⣾⠛⡟⣻⣿⡟⠀⠀⢠⡿⠛⠛⠛⣿⠃⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢘⣰⣿⠟⣡⠚⢄⣿⠃⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⡜⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⣸⡟⣤⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢄⣱⣾⡿⢧⡘⡄⢃⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢸⢈⣼⡏⠀⠀⢰⣿⣾⣟⡿⣻⠇⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠆⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⠟⠙⢿⣳⡝⢮⣰⡿⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⡄⢣⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡿⠋⢰⡟⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣇⠐⡠⢄⠠⠠⢔⣡⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣧⣿⢃⡀⣀⢀⡛⣿⡧⢡⣿⣃⣀⣀⣸⣻⡏⠀⠀⣾⣁⣀⣀⣜⣿⠆⠀⢠⣟⣀⣀⣀⣛⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣟⢿⣻⠛⡛⢛⠡⢂⣽⡿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣽⣹⢬⡂⣱⣾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣧⢻⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

“🫧🎀⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆”

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY v (Autistic author) The room falls into a tense silence, the air thick with the unspoken words of regret and uncertainty. Plankton's humming becomes the only sound in the room. Sandy's eyes are glued to Plankton, watching his hands move in a mesmerizing pattern. His humming grows slightly louder, filling the space around them with a comforting buzz. Despite the simplicity of the act, it's a powerful declaration of his new reality. "Plankton are you ok?" Sandy asks him. Plankton's humming stops abruptly, his gaze snaps to her. "Book," he says with longing. "Want book." Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with newfound understanding. "Of course," she says, standing up. She and Karen move to the shelf where she had placed the book earlier. Karen reaches up, her hand carefully retrieving it. "Here," she says, her voice calm, handing the science book to him. He opens it, his gaze immediately drawn to the index table in the back. His eye scans the rows, his brain finding comfort in the predictability of the page numbers. He starts to read the index aloud, his voice a monotone that fills the room with a strange rhythm. "Quantum Mechanics... 134," he reads, his finger tracing the line. "Relativity, Special and General... 212." Karen and Sandy listen, their expressions a mix of wonder and concern. They've never seen Plankton so engrossed in anything other than his own schemes before. Sandy's gaze follows the movement of his finger as it traces the numbers, her mind trying to grasp the significance of his actions. "Why does he read the index like that?" she whispers to Karen. Karen's smile is filled with both love and pride. "It's his way of finding order," she concurs. "The numbers, the patterns, it brings him comfort." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. His focus on the book is intense, his voice a steady rhythm as he reads off the page numbers. "Biology... 37. Chemistry... 101," he drones. Karen sits beside him, her hand on his back, providing the gentle pressure he craves. The sound of his voice, the comfort of the book's familiar weight, it's all part of his new routine. Sandy sits opposite, her paws clasped in her lap, watching intently. Her gaze flickers from Plankton to Karen and back again. She's learning, trying to understand. Plankton's voice rises in excitement as he reaches the physics section. "Quantum Entanglement... 543!" he exclaims, his hands flapping. His eye lit up, a rare smile spreading across his face. Karen's smiles. This was the Plankton she knew, the one who found delight in the complexity of the universe. He reads on, his voice picking up speed. "String Theory... 621! Gravity Waves... 784!" His stimming becomes more animated, his hands fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, each flap a silent declaration of his newfound obsession with order. Sandy's curiosity is piqued, but she's careful not to interrupt, instead watching him with a newfound respect. Karen smiles, her hand still on his back, feeling the warmth of his excitement through her metal shell. "Plankton, why do you like the index so much?" Sandy asks, keeping her voice soft, when the doorbell rings. Karen's head snaps up, the interrupted moment forgotten. "I'll get it," she says, standing quickly. SpongeBob's face appears in the doorway. "Hi, Karen!" he says, his voice bright and cheerful. "Hi, Sandy!" Sandy's eyes dart to the closed bedroom door, then back to Karen. "I should go," she says, standing up. "Let you guys have some space." Karen nods, her gaze following Sandy's. "Thank you," she whispers. "Bye Sandy. Sponge Bob, come on in; Plankton's in the bedroom.." SpongeBob's now going in, his eyes wide with excitement. "What's up, Plankton?" he says, his voice a bubbly burst of enthusiasm. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide. "SpongeBob," he says, his voice excitedly affectionate. Sponge Bob's eyes widen at the sight of Plankton's intense focus on the book. "Wow, Plankton, you're really into that, huh?" Plankton's hands stop moving, his gaze shifting from the index to Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice filled with glee. He jumps up from the bed, the book forgotten as he rushes to embrace his friend. Sponge Bob stumbles backward, surprise etched on his features as Plankton's arms wrap around his waist. "Whoa, buddy," he says, his eyes wide. "What's gotten into you?" Plankton's grip tightens, his body vibrating with joy. "Sponge Bob," he repeats, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Sponge Bob's smile falters, his hands awkwardly patting Plankton's back. "It's ok, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "I'm just here to visit." Plankton pulls away, his eye shining with joy with a warmth Sponge Bob isn't used to seeing from him. "Come, sit," he says, his voice eager. He pats the spot on the bed next to him. Sponge Bob's expression is a mix of happiness and concern. Sponge Bob sits down, his body tense. "Plankton, you ok?" he asks, his eyes searching Plankton's. Plankton nods, his hands still flapping in excitement. "Good," he says, his voice monotone yet earnest.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON v (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Karen's eyes blazed with fury as she stared at her. "How dare you speak to him like that!" Karen's voice was low and dangerous, her body tense. "How dare you come into my home and say such things!" Hanna took a step back, overwhelmed by the fury in Karen's voice. "I didn't mean..." she began, but Karen cut her off. "You don't get to decide what he needs!" Karen's words were like shrapnel, sharp and biting. "You don't get to judge him!" Her eyes were on fire, her body quivering with the effort of holding back her emotions. Hanna looked at Karen, shocked by the sudden change in her demeanor. "Karen, I'm sorry, I didn't know..." But Karen was beyond words. Her eyes were like twin lasers, cutting through the tension in the room as she stormed towards Hanna. "Get out," she spat, her voice cold and final. Hanna's eyes widened in instinctive fear. She had never seen Karen like this— so angry, so protective. "Get out," Karen repeated, each word a whip crack that sent a shiver down Hanna's spine. Her gaze never left Plankton, whose sobs had become softer, more desolate. Hanna looked between the distraught Plankton and the fuming Karen, realizing the gravity of her mistake. She quickly gathered herself. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice genuine. "I never meant to..." But Karen's anger was a force of nature, unyielding and fierce. She stood between Hanna and Plankton, her body a barricade against further harm. "Get out," she repeated, her voice now a hiss. "Now." Hanna nodded, defeated. She had overstepped a line she didn't even know existed. With a final, apologetic look at Plankton, she turned and left the Chum Bucket, the door slamming behind her. The room was silent except for Plankton's muffled sobs. Karen rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice soothing as she stroked his back. "It's okay, Plankton. I'm here." But Plankton's thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty, Hanna's threat echoing in his mind. An institution? Would Karen really send him away? He pulled away from Karen's embrace, his eye swollen with tears. "Is it true?" he stammered, his voice a choked whisper. "Should you...could you really do that to me?" Karen's grip tightened around him, breaking at the thought of his fear. "Never," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "I would never send you away." Plankton's gaze flitted to hers, his eye searching for the truth in her words. "But what if I'm too much?" he whispered, his voice shaking. "What if I can't get better?" Karen's eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained steady. "You're not too much," she said, stroking his arm. "You're my husband, and I love you no matter what." Plankton's sobs subsided slightly, his mind racing to understand her words. He knew love. "But what if... what if I can't be normal?" he managed to ask, his voice breaking. Karen's gaze was steady, her love for him unwavering. "Plankton, you don't have to be 'normal' to be loved," she said gently. "You're already perfect to me." Plankton's expression remained uncertain, the threat of Hanna's words still lingering like a bad taste in his mouth. "But what if... what if I can't?" Karen's grip tightened, her love a steel band around his quaking form. "You don't have to be anything but you," she murmured, her voice a balm to his soul. "I'll always love you, Plankton." With trembling hands, she offered him the smoothie she'd got, the soothing blue color a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within them both. "Here," she said gently. "This might help." Plankton took it, his grip precise despite his shaking. He brought the cup to his lips, his gaze never leaving Karen's. The cold liquid slid down his throat, easing the tension ever so slightly. He took another sip, the smoothie's cool embrace soothing his frayed nerves. Karen watched him drink. "We'll get through this," she said firmly. "We'll find a way." Plankton took another sip, his eye flickering between hope and fear. "But what if..." Karen's tentacle gently lifted his chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "No 'buts'," she said firmly. "We have each other, and that's all that matters." Plankton took another shaky sip of his smoothie, the blue liquid swirling like the tumultuous thoughts in his head. He felt a tiny spark of comfort at her words. "We'll find a way," Karen repeated, her voice a gentle caress against his fears. She guided him back to the couch, her tentacles never leaving his side. As he took another sip of the smoothie, the coolness seemed to calm him slightly. His sobs grew quieter, his breathing a little steadier. The taste of berries was a sweet contrast to the bitter tang of his thoughts. Karen watched him carefully, her own emotions a swirling storm of concern and love. Gently, she guided him back to the couch, her touch a silent promise of support. He allowed her to lead him, his body exhausted from the intensity of his outburst. Once he was comfortably settled, she took the smoothie from his hand, setting it on the table. She covered him with a soft blanket, the material brushing against his sensitive skin. He flinched slightly, but the comfort outweighed the discomfort. "Rest," she whispered, stroking his forehead gently. "Everything will be okay." **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

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AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY v (Autistic author) Sandy had always known him as quick-witted and sharp-tongued, now he was a shell of his former self, retreating at the slightest touch. Plankton's antennae twitched. Karen stepped in, her voice firm but gentle. "It's ok, Sandy. We're all still learning." Sandy looked at the plate of cookies on the floor, regret flooding her features. She knew Plankton had liked her cookies before, but now... "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea." She reached for him again, but Karen stepped in, shaking her head gently. "It's okay," Karen said, her tone soothing. "But remember, he's not the same Plankton anymore." Sandy's hand hovered in the air, her eyes pleading with Karen for guidance. Plankton's antennae continued to twitch as he stared at the floor, his body a tightly coiled spring. Karen stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered to him. Sandy looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and confusion. "Come on, Plankton," she said, her voice softening. But Plankton's antennae remained still, his gaze fixed on the floor. Karen knew he was lost in his own world, unable to process Sandy's words through the sensory overload. Sandy tried again, her voice a soft coo. "Look at me, Plankton," she said, her hand reaching out once more. But Plankton flinched, his antennae flattening against his head. "No," he murmured, his voice trembling. "No." Sandy's face fell, her eyes wet with regret. "I didn't mean to scare him," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's ok, Sandy," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "You just need to be patient with him." Karen took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. "It was a fight with Mr. Krabs," she said, her words measured. "It... changed how his brain works." Plankton's more sensitive to sounds, lights, and touch," she explained. "And his communication is different now." Sandy looked from Karen to Plankton, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice gentle. "I didn't know." Hanna, who had been quietly observing from the corner, approached the trio, her gaze filled with empathy. "It's okay, Sandy," she said. "We're all still learning." The door burst open again, and SpongeBob bounded in, his usual cheerfulness a stark contrast to the solemn mood in the room. "Hi, everyone!" he exclaimed, his spongey body bouncing with energy. "What's all the hub..." "SpongeBob," Plankton exclaimed, his antennae perking up slightly. SpongeBob's eyes widened in surprise at the rare display of joy from Plankton. The sudden change in Plankton's demeanor was like a switch had been flipped. His antennae stopped twitching, his body uncoiled slightly. "Sponge Bob," he said again, his voice a little louder this time. Sponge Bob looked at him with wonder. "Hi, Plankton!" he said, his eyes wide. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's gaze locked onto Sponge Bob, and a tentative smile spread across his face. "Sponge Bob," he murmured, his voice filled with longing. Sponge Bob's eyes widened with surprise. "Plankton!" he exclaimed, his usual cheerfulness amplified. He moved closer to his friend, his body language open and welcoming. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he watched Sponge Bob give him a gentle pat on the back. But Plankton didn't flinch this time. Instead, his antennae curled forward slightly, as if reaching out for contact. Sponge Bob, noticing the subtle change in his friend, took a seat beside him. "You okay, buddy?" he asked, his voice a gentle whisper. Plankton nodded, his antennae quivering with the effort to stay still. "Sponge Bob good," he murmured, his eye focusing on the familiar figure. Sponge Bob's touch was comforting, a gentle reminder of times when the world wasn't so overwhelming. Plankton's body slowly relaxed under the warmth of the friendship. Sandy and Hanna watched in silence as Sponge Bob's gentle presence seemed to soothe Plankton. His antennae stilled, his body unfurling slightly from its tight coil of anxiety. Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, beamed at Plankton. "I brought you some jellyfishing nets," he offered, holding up a small sack. "Thought we could go for a catch, like old times!" Plankton's antennae shot straight up, his excitement palpable. "Jellyfishing?" he asked, his voice filled with hope. Sponge Bob's grin grew wider. "You bet, Plankton!" he exclaimed. "Just like the good old days!" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "Good," he murmured, his eye lighting up. The mention of jellyfishing brought back memories of simpler times, before his world had been turned upside down. "Yes," he murmured, his voice eager. "Jellyfishing." Karen watched the interaction between Sponge Bob and Plankton, relief washing over her. She knew how much Sponge Bob had always meant to Plankton, and seeing his positive effect was a comforting balm. Sponge Bob's presence had calmed the storm of emotions and sensory overload that had been building within Plankton. He was now sitting up straight in his chair, his antennae waving slightly with excitement. Karen watched them, her heart swelling with gratitude for Sponge Bob. She knew that Plankton needed friends who understood him, who could navigate the choppy waters of his new reality. She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Sponge Bob's. "Sponge Bob," she began, her voice shaky. "There's something important I need to tell you." Sponge Bob looked at her with concern. "What's up, Karen?" Karen took a deep breath, preparing to share the news. "Plankton's been diagnosed with autism," she said softly. Sponge Bob's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "What's that, Karen?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity rather than fear. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes welling with tears. "It's a condition that makes his brain work differently," she explained. "It's like his senses are on overload, and sometimes, the world is just too much for him to handle." Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with concern. "Too much?" he echoed. "But Plankton's always been so... so...spirited!" Karen nodded, her eyes moist with unshed tears. "It's not his spirit, Sponge Bob," she said. "It's just that now, his brain needs more time to process things. And some things that didn't bother him before are really hard for him now." Sponge Bob's gaze drifted to Plankton, who was now playing with a jellyfishing net, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "It was an accident," Karen continued, her voice thick with emotion. "A fight with Mr. Krabs." "A fight?" he echoed, his spongy body stiffening. Karen nodded, her gaze firm. "Mr. Krabs hit him really hard," she said. "And it changed his brain." Sponge Bob looked at Plankton, his eyes filled with a new understanding. He reached out his hand, and Plankton took it, his antennae relaxing slightly. "I'm here for you, buddy," he said, his voice gentle. "You can stay, but perhaps save jellyfishing for another day." Says Karen, as Sandy and Hanna left. Sponge Bob nodded, his grip on Plankton's hand firm. "Whatever you need, Plankton," he said.

CHIP AND FAIL i (Autistic author) Chip, adopted at birth by Karen and Sheldon Plankton, had spent a week with some college buddies and is coming home! Getting off the bus, he goes to open the front door, eager to see his family. "I'm home!" he called out, going inside. The house was unusually silent, but Chip knew his mom was probably busy in the kitchen, and his dad, Plankton, was likely in their room, lost in his mechanical reveries. Chip dropped his backpack by the door to find his mom. "Mom! I'm back!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the hallway. Karen poked her head out. She looked surprised, then a bit nervous as she quickly turned off the oven. "Oh, Chip, sweetheart, I'm so glad you're home," she said, her smile forced and eyes darting towards the closed door of Plankton's bedroom. Chip noticed the tension and frowned. "Where's Dad?" Karen's smile faltered. "He's fine," she assured him, forcing a lightness into her tone. Karen never told Chip about Plankton being on the autism spectrum. It's something he never shares, and only Karen knew about it. They don't intend for Chip to know even though Karen feels bad about not saying anything. Chip thus didn't know that any sudden interaction could send him into a tailspin of sensory overload. "Dad?" he called out, his voice tentative. Karen's eyes widened. She moved swiftly, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you go unpack?" she suggested, guiding him back to the living room. The tension in her voice was palpable, but Chip was too excited to question it. He sat down on the couch, his thoughts racing. It had been a week since he last saw his dad, and he had so much to tell him about his college adventures. He could almost hear the enthusiastic questions Plankton would ask about his studies and new friends! So Chip decides to go see him. Plankton was sitting at his bed. "Surprise!" Chip exclaimed, thrusting open the door and stepping in. Plankton flinched, but Chip doesn't notice. Chip was like a puppy eager to share love. Plankton's head felt like it was about to split open with the onslaught of stimuli. Chip didn't realize that the suddenness of his entry was a problem. Plankton's eye grew wider as Chip rushed over. "Whoa, Dad, guess what?" Chip asked, his voice full of life. He sat down beside Plankton, his heart thumping with excitement. Plankton's eyes darted around the room, his breaths shallow and quick. "I made friends with a squirrel! Her name's Nutmeg. She's the smartest animal on campus. And she loves physics! Can you believe it?" Plankton's condition meant that sudden noises and intrusions could overwhelm him. But the sensory assault was making it difficult to form coherent thoughts, let alone respond with the enthusiasm Chip deserved. He needed time to process his surroundings, to prepare for interaction. But Chip was always so full of life, so eager to share, and he had no way of knowing the effect his enthusiasm could have. He placed a hand on Plankton's shoulder, not knowing about his sensory disorder. "I've missed you so much, Dad," Chip said, leaning in to give his father a hug. The sudden contact was like a thunderclap in Plankton's mind, and he recoiled slightly. But Chip was already deep into his story about a physics experiment gone wrong that had left the lab in a tizzy. He talked with his hands, gesturing wildly as he described the chaos. Plankton sat rigidly beside him, trying to focus on the words, trying not to let the noise and motion consume him. "So, we had to build a catapult to launch a watermelon across the quad," Chip continued, laughing at the memory of the mess they had made. Plankton's face remained expressionless, his eye unfocused. "It was so cool!" Chip said, his hand landing on Plankton's knee. The sudden touch sent a jolt of sensation through Plankton's body, like an electrical current. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "You should've seen it fly!" Chip, oblivious to his father's distress, just beamed wider, eager for more reaction. Plankton was battling to stay present, to connect with his son, but the environment was turning toxic for him, the sensory input bombarding. Chip's eyes lit up even more. "Oh, Dad, you won't believe it! There's this guy, Larry, he's like the human encyclopedia of comic books. And Sally, she's a whiz at chemistry, and she makes the best slime! We're going to start a science club together!" The colors in the room seemed to intensify, the sounds of Chip's voice and the rustle of his clothes like a symphony of chaos. Plankton felt the world closing in. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, trying to process the flood of new faces and names and ideas. He desperately wished he could share in Chip's excitement, but the effort was exhausting.

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⣿⣽⣿⣿⣥⣤⡾⢷⣆⣼⡿⢷⣶⠀⢀⣘⣿⡏⠉⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣭⣽⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⣤⣤⣛⣛⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⡟⠳⠾⠃⠈⢻ ⣿⣿⣟⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢩⣽⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠿⠿⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣼ ⣿⠏⢿⣿⡻⡄⠀⠀⣠⣶⣲⣾⣇⣀⣈⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠋⠛⢻ ⣿⠀⠈⢿⣿⡿⠀⢰⣿⣿⡛⠛⠛⣻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣧⣤⣤⣤⣾⡋⣵⠆⠀⠘ ⡇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⠀⠸⣯⣻⢿⣶⣾⣿⠟⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣯⡉⠛⠛⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣦⡄⢱⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣶⣾⠿⠋⠶⠀⠀ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣽⣿⣧⣠⣶⡷⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⠴⠶⢾ ⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣿⢳⡜⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⢿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣼⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣎⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣯⠙⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⠀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

me📱4️⃣

me📱4️⃣

PLANKTON GOING TO THE DENTIST Ii/Ii Plankton's eye dart around the room, trying to focus, confusion growing as the words won't come out right. "Th-th-the...th-the...th-th-th-th..." He stammers, his mouth working overtime to form the words. Karen's laughter subsides into a comforting chuckle. "It's ok, Plankton." "Th-th-then...why...why do I tawking wike thith?" He asks, voice a wobbly mess, each word a struggle. "I...I'm a g-g-genius!" He stammers, trying to sound defiant despite his speech impediment. "I'n noth s-s-suppothed to tawl wike thish!" Karen giggles. "It's just anesthesia, Plankton," she says soothingly. "It'll wear off soon." Plankton's eye widen further. "B-but...I nee, needff to...to think...think...think!" He stammers. "You'll be fine, Plankton," she says. The dentist pats Plankton's shoulder. "You're quite the charmer even with a mouthful of gauze," he quips, and the assistant snickers. Plankton's cheeks redden, indignation clear even through haze of anesthesia. "I caan...caan...can't...I caan't th-th-think!" Plankton splutters. Karen tries to stifle her giggles, shaking with amusement. "It's anesthesia," she repeats, her voice a gentle wave washing over him. "You're ok, Plankton. You're ok." He takes a deep breath, willing his tongue to cooperate. "G-got...it-t," he says. "Alright, Mr. Plankton, let's get you sitting up," he says. He tries to stand, but his body feels like it's made of jelly, his legs wobbling beneath him. "Whoa!" He exclaims, speech slightly clearer but still slurred. "Thish isn't goog." Karen and the dental staff help him to his feet, the nurse holding on to him as he sways slightly. His eye still glazed over, but there's a hint of the sharpness that she knows so well starting to shine through. "Steady there," she says supporting him. "Let's get to the car." Plankton nods. "Yeah...the...the...ca--" he says. He takes a shaky step. "Just keep taking it slow," she advises, her voice a beacon in the fog of his mind. Karen's supporting him as they navigate the hallway. "Where...wher's...wher's the...the...th-the...?" Plankton's words trip over each other, traitor to his usual eloquence. "The car, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a lifeline in the fog of anesthesia. She leads him through the hallway acting as a gentle guide. The receptionist waves with a smile. "Moth...thath...moth," he stammers. She fastens his seatbelt for him. "D-don't laug-fh at me," he mumbles, eye half-lidded with the lingering effects of anesthesia. "I'm not laughing at you," Karen says. "I'm just happy you're ok." Plankton nods. He tries to say "thanks," but it comes out as "thathks." "You're welcome, Plankton. You're going to be fine." She starts the engine. "Bh-buth...whath abou- the...the...th-the...the...teethies?" Plankton slurs, words a tangled mess. Karen laughs. "Don't worry about the teeth Plankton. They're out. You're all healed up." Plankton nods, his eye glazed and his speech still slurred. "Thath's...tha's good," he manages to say. "But I...I can't t-talk wight," he mumbles, frustrated. "Don't worry, honey," Karen says, patting his hand. "You're just a bit loopy from anesthesia. It'll wear off." Plankton tries to argue, but all that comes out is a series of garbled sounds. "Th-the...th-th-th..." "Your mouth is just numb, Plankton," Karen says, driving. "The anesthesia makes it hard to talk." But Plankton can't help it; he keeps trying, his slurred words a jumble of consonants. "Th-th-that's not ith’s," he protests, his voice bubbly. "I'm a g-g-gen-n-n...genius!" Karen giggles, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You're a genius all right," she teases. Plankton's eye narrow in determination. "Th-that's not...noth fair!" He says, his tongue feeling like a thick sea slug. Karen can't help but laugh harder. "It's ok, Plankton," she says. "But I...I nee-f to...to...to th-th-think! I can't...can't th-think thish!" Karen's laughter bubbles up again and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. "You're ok, Plankton," she says, voice a warm current of comfort. "D-don't...d-don't leav-e me," he mumbles, his eye drooping. Karen glances over. "I'm right here, Plankton," she says. Plankton's head lolls to the side, and his snores become a soothing background to the hum of the boat's engine. His mouth hangs open, a stream of drool trailing down his chin, creating a small pool in the seat. Karen, noticing the gauze in his mouth has shifted, gently repositioned it, careful not to cause him any pain. He mumbles something incoherent, and she chuckles, shaking her head. "Rest my love," she murmurs. The drool continues to escape Plankton's mouth, creating a wet spot on the boat's upholstery, his slumbering form a stark contrast to the sharp scheming creature she's used to. She reaches over to gently dab at the drool, her movements careful not to disturb his sleep. As the boat docks at the Chum Bucket, Karen wonders how she'll manage to get him inside without him babbling incoherently and scaring off any passersby. But Plankton, in his anesthesia-induced haze, seems oblivious to the world around him, his snores the only sound. Karen helps him out of the boat, and she half-drags half-carries him through the door. They enter their living quarters and she gently lays him on their bed which feels like a vast ocean compared to his usual cramped lab space. She carefully takes out the gauze, watching his eye flutter open. "Where...where am I?" He mumbles. "You're home, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft wave of comfort. She wipes his chin clean with a warm, damp cloth. Plankton looks around, his eye finally focusing on the familiar sights of their home. "Home?" He slurs, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "B-but...I..." "Just rest, Plankton," Karen says, pushing him gently back down. "You've had a big day." Home never felt so welcoming, Plankton thinks, as he sinks into the embrace of the bed. Karen fluffs a pillow under his head, her movements tender. "Th-thank youw," he manages to say, his speech still thick. "You're welcome," Karen replies, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, you just rest. I'll be here." He closes his eye, letting the numbness of his mouth and the heaviness of his limbs take over. Karen sits beside him, moving in a soothing rhythm against his arm. "You're going to be fine," Karen whispers, stroking his cheek. "Just sleep it off and by tomorrow you'll be back to your usual scheming self." Plankton tries to smile but his mouth refuses to cooperate. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a half-hearted attempt and he mumbles "I wove youw thoo." The next day, Plankton wakes up. The numbness in his mouth has subsided leaving only a dull throb. He opens his eye to see Karen. "How do you feel?" She asks. Plankton's eye blinked open, the room spinning around him. Karen came into focus. "Mmph; wha's? Wh-when..." "Your wisdom teeth," she says, her voice a soothing tide. "They're gone Plankton. You don't have to worry about them anymore." "Wis-wis-wis...?" He stammers, his tongue tripping over the word "wisdom." "Yes, Plankton," Karen says with amusement. "You had your wisdom teeth removed yesterday." Plankton's eye widen, and he tries to sit up. "Y-yesterday?" He slurs. "But I...I caan't...can't remember.." Karen nods, her smile full of mirth. "You were pretty out of it," she says. He tries to push himself up, but the pain in his mouth sends a shockwave through. "Mph-ow!" He flops back down, his hands flying to his cheeks. "What do you mean?" Karen laughs. "You were pretty loopy," she says, holding him down gently. "The anesthesia had you talking like..." she pauses, searching for the right words. "Well, like you've never talked before." "I hope I...I didn't say anything..." he starts, his voice trailing off. "Oh, you said plenty," she teases. "But don't worry, it was just the anesthesia talking." "Wh-wh-what did I say?" Karen chuckles. "You were worried about your 'teethies'," she mimics his slurred speech from the day before. "And you kept insisting you needed to think, even when it was clear you couldn't even talk straight. But don't worry; you're just fine."

📄×🍊🧃

3️

🥄 x .𖥔💜🕯 ݁˖

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iv (Autistic author) The front door clicked open, and Hanna poked her head in, expression uncertain. "Hi! Is he ok?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Come in," Karen called out softly, noticing Hanna's worried features. Hanna stepped into the room, her movements cautious. Plankton rocked slightly in his chair, a subtle motion that Karen recognized as his way of self-soothing. It was a stimming behavior, something he does now. Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, her gaze questioning. Karen nodded reassuringly. "He's okay," she whispered. "He just needs a moment." Plankton sat in his chair, his body moving gently in a rhythmic rock. It was a new behavior, one he'd developed since the diagnosis. Karen had read about stimming in her research and knew it helped him to regulate his sensory input. Hanna, who had returned with a cautious hopefulness, took a seat across from them, curious as she watched Plankton's movements. "What's he doing?" Hanna asked softly, her voice filled with concern. Karen glanced at Plankton, his body swaying gently in the chair. "It's called stimming," she explained calmly. "Plankton, Hanna's here. Do you want to tell her about what's happened with you?" He stopped rocking, his antennae twitching. He took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Hanna leaned in, her eyes full of sympathy. "What happened, Plankton?" she asked gently. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae still. "Plankton... autistic," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Hanna's expression shifted from confusion to concern. "What does that mean?" she whispered. Karen took a deep breath, preparing to explain. "It means his brain works differently now. He's more sensitive to sounds, textures, lights, everything. And sometimes, it's just too much." Hanna's eyes widened, her grip on the chair tightening. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to his trembling hands. "Fight," he began, his voice still a whisper. "With Krabs." Her screen filled with understanding, the pieces falling into place. "The fight gave you...this?" she asked, her voice tentative. Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly. "Krabs hit head," he murmured. "Too much." The words were simple, but clear. Hanna's eyes filled with tears as she looked from Karen to Plankton. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered. "I had no idea." Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on his hands. Karen watched his struggle to communicate, her heart breaking for him. She knew autism was a part of him now. Hanna reached out tentatively, her hand hovering over Plankton's shoulder. "Can I...?" But Plankton flinched, his antennae shooting up. "No," he murmured, his voice strained. Hanna's hand hovered in midair, uncertain. She looked to Karen for guidance. Karen's expression was sad, but firm. "He's touch averse now, Hanna," she said gently. "It's part of his condition. But thanks for asking." Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. She could see the fear in his eye, the way he shied away from her touch. She felt a pang of regret for her earlier behavior. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice filled with sincerity. "I'd never hurt you.." Plankton's gaze remained on the floor. "No touch," he said firmly, his voice shaky but determined. Hanna nodded, her hand dropping back to her side. "Okay," she whispered, respect in her tone. "I'll remember." The doorbell rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet of their makeshift sanctuary. Plankton's head snapped up, his antennae quivering with the sudden noise. Karen stood quickly, moving to the door. "I'll get it," she murmured to Plankton, her hand on the doorknob. "Remember, it's okay." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The door swung open to reveal Karen's gal pal Sandy, face lit up with a smile. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, her voice too loud for Plankton's heightened hearing. Sandy didn't notice the tension in the room, her eyes bright with excitement. "I brought cookies!" she chirped, holding out a plate of sugary goodies. Plankton flinched at the sound of her voice, the sudden change in environment jolting his senses. He felt his heart rate spike, his body preparing for fight or flight. Sandy saw Karen and Hanna sitting in front of Plankton. Sandy knew Plankton's always a loner, so she didn't catch on, nor does she know about what happened to him this week. "Hi Plankton!" she said cheerfully, completely unaware of the sensory minefield she'd just stumbled into. Plankton's antennae twitched with discomfort, the sudden burst of sensory input overwhelming him. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure. "Hi, Sandy," Karen said, her smile forced. She took the plate of cookies, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Thanks for the surprise." But Sandy's gaze was on Plankton, who sat stiffly in his chair. "Howdy," she said, her voice a little too bright. "How are you?" Plankton didn't look up, his body tense. "Why ain't ya talking?" Sandy asked, her cheerfulness fading. Plankton's antennae twitched, his body tightening. "Sandy," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. "What's with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp. "You're acting weird!" Plankton flinched at the harsh tone, his antennae drooping. He couldn't explain, not with words that made sense to him. "No." He says. Sandy's smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she demanded. "I don't get it, why are you being so rude, even for you?" Her voice was loud. Plankton's eye darted around the room, searching for an escape from the confrontation. He felt the familiar panic rising, his heart beating faster. But Sandy wasn't having it. "You usually got a lot to say, Plankton," she said, her tone accusatory. "What's wrong with you?" Plankton's antennae flattened against his head, his eye darting nervously around the room. He could feel the pressure building, his ability to communicate slipping away under the weight of her frustration. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. Sandy's frown deepened. "Sorry? What for? You're acting like a sulfur-brain, Plankton!" Her words were a slap to his face, each syllable a jab at his already fragile state. "Can't ya at least say hi back‽" She demanded. "Hi back." Plankton replied. Sandy thought he's trying to be rude. "You're always so full of it, but now you can't even bother to talk?" Her words cut through the tension like a knife, slicing into the quiet sanctuary they had built. Plankton's antennae twitched erratically, a silent testament to his rising anxiety. But Sandy was on a roll, her frustration with his lack of response fueling her accusations. "You know what? Forget it," she huffed, throwing the cookies down right in front of Plankton. The sharp clatter of the plate was like a gunshot to his overstimulated senses. He flinched, his antennae shooting straight up. "It's like you're not even trying!" Sandy's voice was a whirlwind of accusation. Plankton felt his control slipping, his thoughts racing. "Sandy," he tried again, his voice strained. "Plankton not good now." But Sandy's irritation had turned to anger. "What's your problem, Plankton? You've always been a tiny troublemaker, but now you can't even have a simple conversation?" The room grew tense, and Plankton started rocking trying not to let the tears in his eye fall. Sandy's eyes narrowed, her frustration with Plankton's new behaviors growing. "What's with the rocking?" she snapped. Plankton's rocking grew more pronounced, his antennae twitching rapidly. Sandy got even more annoyed. Her voice grew louder. "Stop that!" she barked, startling Plankton more. He stopped rocking but he starts shaking. Sandy's fury was a storm, her words stinging like hailstones. "Why are you acting so crazy?" she demanded, her voice laced with disgust. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body trembling. The room was too loud, too bright, too much. Sandy's tone grew sharper, her frustration palpable. "What's gotten into you, Plankton?" she snapped. "You're acting like you're not even here!" Plankton's eye darted to Karen, his silent plea for help evident. Karen took a deep breath, stepping into the fray. "Sandy, I need to tell you something," Karen began, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her. "There's something we need you to know." Sandy's scowl didn't fade. "What could possibly be more important than a simple hello?" she spat out. Karen took a deep breath, her hands clenched into fists at her side. "It's not simple, Sandy," she began, her voice tight. "Plankton had an accident. A really bad one." Sandy's expression morphed from anger to confusion. "What do you mean, an accident?" she asked, her voice softening slightly. Karen's screen was a mix of sadness and determination. "He got into a fight with Mr. Krabs," she said, her voice measured. "And he hit his head. Hard. It... changed him. Plankton's been diagnosed with autism, Sandy," she said gently. Sandy's expression went from confusion to shock. "What?" she whispered, her anger forgotten. Sandy looked at Plankton, his antennae drooping, his body shaking. Her eyes filled with horror as she took in the scene before her. "Oh my stars," she breathed, her hands reaching out. But he shrank away from her. "No touch," Plankton murmured, his body curling inward, antennae quivered with anxiety. Her heart sank. "Oh, Plankton," she murmured, her voice filled with regret.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii (Autistic author) The room grew quiet as they all digested the information. Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's, his expression filled with a fierce loyalty. He knew his friend was different, but that didn't change the love he had for the tiny creature. Sensing the tension, Sponge Bob took a deep breath and smiled his wide, welcoming smile. "You know what, Plankton?" he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You're still my best buddy, no matter what." Plankton's antennae perked up, his eye focusing on Sponge Bob's earnest expression. The sponge's words were a comforting lullaby, a gentle reminder of their unbreakable bond. He felt the warmth of their friendship wash over him, a comforting blanket against the coldness of Hanna's accusations. Sponge Bob's hand found its way to his shoulder, the touch a familiar comfort that his overstimulated senses craved. Plankton leaned into the warmth, his body responding to the soothing pressure. "Best buddies," he echoed, his voice a soft affirmation. The room grew quiet as Sponge Bob's hand remained steady on his shoulder, his presence a calming force in the storm of his emotions. Plankton closed his eye, his body relaxing into the gentle embrace. "We're gonna get through this," Sponge Bob said, his voice a soothing lullaby. "We'll figure it out, buddy. I'm here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the warmth of his friend's words seeping into his soul. Sponge Bob had always had a way of making him feel safe, but now, with this new knowledge, their friendship felt even more vital. "Thank you," Plankton murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. Sponge Bob's thumb rubbed circles on his back. The two friends sat in silence, the warmth of their companionship a stark contrast to the chill of Hanna's words. Plankton felt the tension in his body slowly melt away, his breaths evening out. The steady beat of Sponge Bob's heart was a comforting lullaby that helped him find peace. Sponge Bob's thumb continued its circular dance on his back, a wordless communication of his love and support. Plankton sighed, his body growing heavier with each comforting pressure point. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob's eyes searched his face, a flicker of understanding dawning. "It's okay, Plankton," he said. "We'll get through this together." His hand didn't move, his touch a silent promise of his unwavering support. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the comfort of his friend's presence a warmth against the coldness of his fear. He knew Sponge Bob would always be there for him, even if he didn't fully understand his condition. The sponge's love was a constant, a beacon of light in his otherwise confusing world. Sponge Bob's eyes never left his friend's, his smile a gentle reminder of the joy they shared. "You know, Plankton," he began, his voice a soft caress. "You're still the same little guy I've always known." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body leaning into the warmth of Sponge Bob's embrace. The steady beat of the sponge's heart was a comforting metronome that helped him find his rhythm again. He felt the tension in his body slowly melt away, each breath growing deeper and more even. The room, once a battlefield of accusations and misunderstandings, was now a haven of quiet comfort. The rustling of pages grew softer, the candle's glow dimming as the minutes ticked by. Karen and Hanna watched from afar, heavy with regret and hope. They saw the change in Plankton, the way he leaned into Sponge Bob's touch, the way his body slowly relaxed. Sponge Bob, ever the comforting presence, began to hum a gentle tune, a melody that Plankton had heard a thousand times. The familiar notes were a lullaby that soothed his frazzled nerves, his antennae dropping to rest against the sponge's shoulder. The tune was a bridge to his past, a time before the accident, before the world had shifted on its axis. Plankton's breaths grew deeper, his body swaying slightly with the rhythm. His eye closed. Sponge Bob's humming grew softer, his hand never leaving Plankton's back. The warmth of his companion's embrace was a soothing balm. The room, once a prison of accusations, was now a sanctuary of friendship. The candle's flame danced, casting shadows that played across the walls, their flickering a gentle reminder of the warmth in their hearts. Sponge Bob's hum grew softer, his melody a gentle whisper that lulled Plankton into a peaceful reverie. His body molded into the sponge's embrace, his antennae drooping with the weight of his eyelid. The world outside faded away, replaced by the safety of Sponge Bob's arms. Karen watched from the distance, shimmering with unshed tears. She knew the importance of this moment, the power of a friend who understood without words. Her heart swelled with gratitude for Sponge Bob's unwavering support. Hanna, too, felt the weight of her own words, the realization of her ignorance heavy on her shoulders. She longed to reach out, to be part of this healing embrace, but felt the boundary that she had unwittingly created. Her screen followed the tender scene, her thoughts racing with a desire to apologize, to explain. But she knew that now was not the time for words. Instead, she sat quietly, watching the dance of friendship unfold. The steady beat of Sponge Bob's heart, the gentle rustle of his body against Plankton's, the soothing hum that filled the air—it was a symphony of care. Hanna's gaze drifted to the candle, its flame a flickering reminder of the warmth that was slowly seeping into the room. She watched as Plankton's body grew heavier, his breaths deepening. The anger and fear that had once dominated the space were now replaced with a comforting quietude. Karen's hand found Hanna's, squeezing gently. "He's ok," she whispered. "We're going to be ok." Her voice was a calm sea, offering a gentle buoyancy to the storm of emotions that had ravaged them all. Hanna's screen searched hers, uncertainty warring with hope. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice a soft apology. "I just didn't know." Karen nodded, her gaze compassionate. "It's a journey," she said. "We're all just trying to understand." The humming grew softer, until it was only a faint echo in the room. Plankton's antennae twitched with the last remnants of his anxiety, before they too stilled. His body grew heavy, his breaths deep and even. The gentle sway of Sponge Bob's embrace was a lullaby that rocked him into a peaceful slumber. Sponge Bob felt the change in Plankton's tension, his friend's body becoming a soft weight against his. He smiled, his heart swelling with love and relief. Carefully, he adjusted his hold, cradling the tiny creature against his chest. His thumb continued its comforting strokes, his eyes never leaving the closed eye. Karen stepped forward, her movements graceful and silent. Her hand rested on Sponge Bob's arm, her screen a gentle thank you. Hanna quietly left. The room was now bathed in the soft glow of the candle, its flicker the only sound. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly in his sleep, his breaths deep and even. Sponge Bob held him tight, his heartbeat a gentle rhythm that soothed the tiny creature's slumber. Karen watched the two, aching with love and gratitude. She knew that Sponge Bob's simple act of comfort was a powerful statement of friendship and support. It was moments like this that reminded her of the strength in their bond. The candle's flame danced gently, casting shadows that played across Plankton's sleeping face. His antennae, once a whirlwind of anxiety, were now still, resting against Sponge Bob's chest. His breaths were even and deep, a testament to the peace he had found in his friend's embrace. Sponge Bob looked down at his sleeping companion, his face a picture of quiet contentment. He knew that Plankton was safe here, that his slumber was a reprieve from the storm of emotions that had ravaged his day. The room was a sanctuary of calm, the candle's warmth a gentle guardian. The sponge's heart swelled with love as he watched his friend's tiny chest rise and fall, each breath a whispered promise of support. He knew that Plankton's world was now different, that the ASD had brought with it challenges that neither of them could have foreseen. But in this moment, their bond was stronger than ever, a beacon of understanding in a sea of uncertainty. Karen's eyes searched Sponge Bob's, her own heart heavy with the weight of what Plankton had endured. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice a soft wave of appreciation. "For being there for him." Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's sleeping form, his thumb still tracing comforting patterns. "Always," he said, his voice a gentle promise. "No matter what."

JUST A TOUCH vii (Autistic author) The room is thick with unspoken words as Sandy slowly approaches the bed, her movements calculated to avoid overstimulating Plankton. Her eyes are full of compassion, but also fear of the unknown. "Hi, Plankton," she says softly, extending her hand with a gentle wave. He flinches, his antennae quivering. "Remember me?" Plankton's brain processes her words, but his response is delayed. He nods, his movements mechanical. Sandy sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice carefully modulated to avoid causing him discomfort. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to the side. He doesn't look at her directly, his gaze lingering on a spot on the wall. "Fine," he says, his voice devoid of inflection. Sandy nods, her eyes searching his for any sign of the friend she knew. "It's good to see you, Plankton." Her words hang in the air, their meaning lost in the labyrinth of his new reality. Karen watches them, her heart in her throat. She can see the effort Plankton is making to engage with Sandy, the way his antennae twitch with every word spoken. It's a dance, a delicate balance between his need for solace and his desire for connection. Sandy's hand hovers near his, her eyes questioning. "Can I?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Plankton's gaze shifts to hers, his expression unreadable. Karen nods, giving her permission. "Gently," she says, a soft reminder. Sandy nods, her hand inching closer to his. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body stiffening as her fingertips brush against his. But the moment their skin makes contact, something snaps within him. He jolts upright, his antennae flailing as his eye widen in panic. "Too much," he cries out, his voice a mix of fear and anger. "Too much!" The room seems to shrink around him, the walls closing in with every beat of his racing heart. Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay." But Plankton's not listening, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "No!" he yells, his voice echoing through the room. "No touch!" Sandy's face falls, her eyes brimming with confusion and hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's in the throes of a full-blown meltdown. His tiny fists clench. "No touch!" he repeats, his voice rising. Karen's heart breaks seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes, but she understands the importance of respecting Plankton's boundaries. "We're sorry, Plank..." But Plankton's anger interrupts her, his voice sharp and intense. "No! No sorry! Sandy touch no good!" His words are a jumble of pain and frustration, a stark contrast to the controlled monotone he'd used earlier. Sandy's eyes fill with tears, her hand retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't know." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "It's okay," she says to both of them, her voice steady. "We're just figuring this out." Plankton's chest heaves with breaths. "No touch," he mutters, his voice fading. Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice softer. "I'll..." But Plankton's outburst continues, his voice rising. "No touch!" The room vibrates with his distress, the air thick with his panic. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to find a way to soothe him. She knows he's overwhelmed, that his new hypersensitivity to touch has been violated. Sandy's eyes widen, her hands hovering awkwardly in the space between them. She can see the turmoil in his face, the anguish in his voice. "I didn't mean to..." she starts, but her words are swallowed by his distress. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. But it's too late. The dam has broken, and his emotions flood the room like a storm. His tiny body trembles with rage, his antennae flailing in every direction. "No touch!" he screams again, the force of his voice surprising even Sandy. She jumps back, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, a silent apology in her gaze. "It's okay," she says to him, her voice soothing. "We'll make sure that doesn't happen again." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his breathing erratic. "No touch," he whispers, his voice broken. Sandy backs away, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know," she says, her voice thick. "I'm so sorry." The room echoes with Plankton's sobs, his body quaking in Karen's arms. Karen's heart aches for him, her eyes never leaving his face. "No touch," he whispers, his voice broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out." Plankton's antennae stop flailing, his body still trembling as the storm of his emotions begin to subside. He looks up at Karen, his gaze searching for comfort. She wipes a tear from her face with her free hand. "It's okay," she repeats. "You're okay." Sandy's eyes are red, her shoulders slumped. "I didn't know," she says again, her voice shaking. "I just wanted to help." Karen nods, her own eyes wet with empathy. "I know," she says. "It's a lot to take in." The three of them sit in the quiet room, the only sound Plankton's muffled sobs. Sandy's eyes dart around, not knowing what to do with herself. Karen squeezes his hand gently, her gaze never leaving his. "We're here for you," she whispers. Slowly, Plankton's crying subsides, his body still shaking. Karen can feel the tension in him, like a coiled spring ready to snap again. Sandy's hand twitches, as if she wants to reach out, but she stops herself, remembering his outburst. "I'm sorry," she says again, her voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's not your fault," she says to Sandy, her voice gentle. "We're all just trying to navigate this new... reality." Sandy sniffs, nodding. "I just want to be here for you guys," she says, her voice shaky. Plankton's sobs quiet, his body slumping in exhaustion. Karen nods, her eyes meeting Sandy's. "We know, and we appreciate it," she says, her voice tight. "But we have to be careful with his sensory needs." Sandy nods, her face a mask of sorrow. "I'll learn," she whispers. "What do you need from me, Plan..." But Plankton's already slipping away, his eyelid drooping as sleep beckons. Karen's grip on his hand doesn't loosen as she watches his breathing even out. The tension in the room slowly eases as his body relaxes, his sobs giving way to quiet snuffles. Sandy's eyes are on him, her heart heavy with guilt. "I'll go," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Call me if you need anything." Sandy nods, her eyes lingering on the two of them before she stands, her legs shaky. She crosses the room, the weight of her mistake dragging her down. As she reaches the door, she glances back one last time. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, and she can't help but feel a pang of sadness. Karen's eyes follow her, filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," she whispers again as Sandy exits, closing the door behind her. The click echoes through the quiet space, a stark reminder of the distance that's grown between them all. Plankton's grip on her hand tightens slightly in his sleep, as if sensing the shift in the room's energy. Karen brings her other hand to cover his, sandwiching it between hers. Her eyes well with tears as she whispers, "It's okay, Plankton. You're okay." The room is bathed in silence once again, the only sound being Plankton's gentle snores. Karen's mind is racing, thinking of all the adjustments they'll need to make, the education she'll have to provide to those who know and love him. But for now, she focuses on the warmth of his hand in hers, his head buried in her shoulder. Her eyes drift to the clock, the hands moving in a slow, steady march forward. It's time for her to start dinner, to bring some semblance of normalcy back into their lives. Gently, she shifts Plankton to his side, making sure he's comfortable before rising from the bed. The kitchen is a minefield of potential triggers: the hum of the fridge, the clink of pans, the smell of cooking food. She moves carefully, her eyes scanning the room for anything that might overstimulate him. The recipe she's chosen is simple, something they both enjoy. She starts the prep, chopping vegetables with a precision that Plankton would appreciate, her movements methodical and calming. The aroma of cooking food fills the air, a comforting reminder of their shared life. Karen's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, planning how to help Plankton navigate this new world. She wipes her hands on a towel. As she hears Plankton's tentative steps on the stairs, she takes a deep breath. His descent is slow, each step measured with caution. When he enters the kitchen, his gaze darts around the room, his antennae twitching with each new sound. Karen's heart squeezes. She's used to his energy, his boundless enthusiasm. This cautious creature is still his shell-shocked self. "Hungry?" she asks, her voice as soft as the evening light. Plankton nods. The meal is a simple one, a familiar comfort in a world that's become so alien. Karen places the plate before him, the steaming food a visual symphony of their shared past. Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze fixating on the plate. "Food," he says, his voice still monotone. Karen nods, aching for the passionate foodie she knew. "Do you need anything else?" she asks, her voice soft. He shakes his head. The meal is eaten in silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants to say something, anything, but she knows he needs space, time to process the whirlwind of emotions.

JUST A TOUCH iv (Autistic author) The next day, Karen woke up to a meticulously organized kitchen. Plankton was already up, his movements sharp and focused as he arranged the cutlery in the drawer. "Good morning, Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. He looked up, his expression neutral. "Good morning, Karen," he replied, his voice monotone. Her heart squeezed. This was not the man who used to greet her with a cheeky smile and a sigh every morning. But she pushed the sorrow aside and focused on the task at hand: making breakfast. As she began to prep the meal, Plankton hovered nearby, his antennae twitching. "Would you like to help me?" she asked, holding out a spatula. He took it with both hands, his movements mechanical as he followed her instructions to the letter. The sizzle of the chum on the pan seemed to calm him, his gaze flicking between her face and the food. Plankton's meticulousness extended to their breakfast. Every ingredient measured to the exact milliliter, every step in the recipe followed without deviation. Karen watched him, a mix of amazement and sadness swirling inside her. As they sat down to eat, Karen noticed his eye darting between his plate and the clock. "Is something wrong?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his antennae still. "Must eat at 7:00," he said, his voice tight. "It's okay, we're a little late," she said, trying to soothe him. "But we're together, and that's what matters." Plankton took a bite of his perfectly arranged breakfast, his eye not leaving the clock. "Seven minutes, thirty-four seconds until 7:00," he murmured. Karen's throat tightened, but she forced a smile. "We'll be done before then," she assured him. The meal was finished in silence, Plankton's precision contrasting with Karen's clumsy attempts to match his rhythm. As they cleared the table, his movements were a dance of order and control, while hers were stilted, filled with nervous glances. In the living room, Plankton moved to his favorite chair, his eye immediately drawn to the bookshelf. His gaze flitted over the books. Karen watched, her heart heavy with the weight of their new reality. The doctor had suggested that engaging in familiar activities could help with the transition. Hoping to ease the tension, she offered, "Would you like a work book?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. Karen retrieved one from his collection, handing it to him with care. He took it in his hands. It was clear that his intellect had not been diminished, but rather had been reshaped by his condition. Moments later, Hanna came in. She knows Karen's married, but she doesn't know any thing else about Plankton. Hanna's smile was wide and welcoming as she saw the two of them. "Hi, I'm Karen's friend Hanna," she said, extending a hand. Plankton looked at it and then went back to his book. Karen stepped in, her voice soft. "Plankton, this is Hanna," she said, gesturing between them. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton." Hanna's smile faltered slightly, noticing the distance in Plankton's gaze. "Hi, Plankton," Hanna said, her tone gentle. "It's nice to meet you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze shifting to her briefly before returning to the book. Karen watched the interaction, her heart racing. How would Hanna react to him? Will Plankton like her? Would she still want to be friends with her? Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton and back, her smile slightly puzzled. "Is he okay?" she asked quietly. Karen nodded. "He's just focused" she said, her voice hitching. "I'll go fix us up some chumbalaya." After Karen left, Hanna sat right up next to Plankton. "Hi, Plankton," she said again. He glanced at her, then back at his book. She waited, leaning forward slightly. Finally, he spoke without looking up. "Hello, Hanna. Karen's friend. Good." It was a statement, not a question or a greeting. Her curiosity was piqued by this odd behavior. Hanna watched as Plankton continued to study the book, his tiny hands flipping pages with a quickness she hadn't seen before. He was like a different creature, his movements calculated. She knew something was off, but she wasn't sure what. So she decides to try getting him to interact. "What are you reading?" she asked, leaning closer. Plankton's antennae shot up. "It's a book," he replied, his voice flat. Hanna laughed, mistaking his bluntness for shyness. "I know that," she said, her tone playful as she leaned closer. "But what's it about?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing slightly. "It's about... puzzles?" Hanna's eyes widened. "Puzzles?" she repeated, leaning in even closer. Her proximity was making him uncomfortable, his body stiffening like a board. "What kind of puzzles?" Plankton's gaze darted to her before returning to the book. "Word's," he said, his voice sharp as he focused on the page. The way he said it was a clear message to back off, but Hanna was oblivious to the cues. "Oh, words puzzles!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I love those! Can I see?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the book, brushing against his hand. Plankton flinched, his antennae drooping. Hanna's cheerfulness didn't wane as she flipped through the pages, exclaiming over the puzzles. "This looks like FUN!" she said, not taking note of how Plankton's body was taut with tension. "It's a good book," Plankton said, his voice devoid of emotion. He was trying to be polite, but the sensory overload was building inside him. The way she talked, the way she moved, the sound of her voice—it was all too much. Hanna, still beaming, turned the page and pointed at a particularly complex puzzle. "Look at this one! Can you do it?" she challenged, her finger tapping the page impatiently. Plankton's eye darted to the puzzle, his mind racing. He didn't want to disappoint but the pressure was too intense. He can't think! "Sure," he stuttered, his voice small. Hanna clapped her hands, excitedly. "Great! Let's see how fast you can solve it!" Plankton felt his heart racing, his antennae drooping. The pressure to perform was suffocating him. He looked at the puzzle, his mind racing through possible word combinations, his eye darting from letter to letter, but Hanna interrupts him again. "Come on, Plankton! I bet you're really good at these!" Her excitement was palpable, but Plankton could only feel his chest tightening. He wanted to scream, to tell her to stop, but the words remained trapped behind the wall of his new social ineptitude. He took the book, his hands shaking slightly as his eye scanned the puzzle. The letters swam before him, his mind racing to keep up with the barrage of sensory input. "Don't be shy," she said, nudging him. "You can do it!" Plankton felt the weight of Hanna's enthusiasm like an anvil on his shoulders. His grip on the book tightened. He had always been good at word puzzles, but now they felt like a labyrinth with no exit. The room spun around him, the pressure to perform building like a storm in his chest. But Hanna's energy was like a tsunami, unstoppable. "You know, I used to be really bad at these," she said, sitting closer, her knees touching his. "But I got so much better with practice!" Plankton felt his skin crawl, the need to escape intensifying. He was trapped in a conversation he hadn't asked for, with a person who was oblivious to his plight. He took a deep breath, his eye scanning the room for a way out. "How about we try one together?" Hanna suggested, her voice bubbly. Plankton's heart hammered in his chest. Hanna didn't seem to notice his distress, her screen shining with excitement. "It'll be fun! Just tell me the letters you see, and I'll guess the words!" Plankton's antennae drooped, his shoulders tense. He wanted to scream, to tell her to leave him alone. But his newfound condition made the words catch in his throat. "Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Hanna's screen lit up, and she leaned in even closer. "Great!" she exclaimed. "I'll start with 'C'. What do you see?" Plankton's gaze remained steadfast on the book, his eye darting from letter to letter. He can't see anything with all... Hanna's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, sharp and demanding. "C'mon, Plankton, don't be shy! Tell me what you see!" Her hand reached out, grabbing his arm. The sudden touch sent a jolt through him. Plankton flinched, his body reacting before his mind could form a coherent thought. His antennae shot up, and he pulled away, knocking over the book in the process. The sound echoed in the room like thunder. Hanna's smile faltered, confusion clouding her features. "What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely concerned as she cups his head; and that's it. The dam bursts. Plankton's body goes rigid, his eye wide with pain. He can't take it anymore—the touch, the noise, the pressure, his hand flailing to shove her away. "STOP!" he screams, his voice cracking. Hanna's hand retreats as if burned. Her smile fades, replaced by a look of shock and concern. "What happened?" she asks, turning him towards her with her hands on his shoulders. Which is when he stops moving, unblinking as Karen comes back in. Karen sets the chumbalaya aside as she notices his unresponsiveness. "Plankton?" she calls out, concern etching her voice. Hanna turns to her, her eyes wide. "I don't think he's okay," she says, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Karen's heart drops as she rushes over, her eyes scanning his frozen form. "It's okay," she murmurs, gently guiding Hanna away. "Let me handle this."

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix (Autistic author) With grace of a dancer, Chip slides into the bed beside his dad, his movements calculated and precise. Each inch closer feels like a victory, a step to reconciliation. He's careful not to disturb. His hand reaches for Plankton's, his touch a whisper in the quiet. Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic. Chip swells with hope, clutches the hand tightly, feeling the strength in the slender fingers. It's a silent declaration of love, an unspoken apology. Karen watches, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. The sight of her son and husband finding their way back to each other fills her heart with a warmth that chases the shadows from the room. She knows this isn't a moment to interrupt, so she simply observes, her hand on Chip's back in silent support. Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets his body mold to the warmth of his dad's side. The scent of his dad's pillow, a mix of saltwater and something uniquely Plankton, fills his nose, lulling him into a sense of safety. Time seems to stand still in the quiet embrace, each tick of the clock a gentle reminder that moments like these are rare. But eventually, the world outside their sanctuary calls, and Plankton stirs. His antennas twitch, his eye blinking open . He's disoriented at first, his brain still wrapped in the cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels the warmth beside him, the weight of a small hand in his. Plankton's heart stutters, his body tense. His eye find Chip's peaceful face, his son's cheek pressed against his arm. The room is a tableau of quiet, the air thick with the unspoken. He's torn between emotions and fear, his mind racing. He doesn't remember falling asleep, the anger and frustration of last night a distant memory. But here's Chip, a living proof of their unspoken reconciliation. Plankton's antennas quiver, his hand hovering over their entwined fingers. He's afraid to move, to disturb the fragile harmony of the moment. But his body has other plans. His muscles tense, his skin prickling with the need for space. He's not used to this, the warmth, the weight. His autistic brain screams for order, for predictability. He tries to swallow the rising panic, to push it back down into the pit of his stomach where it belongs. Plankton can feel his own heart racing, his antennas quivering with the effort of holding still. His body wants to recoil, to retreat from the sudden assault of sensation. But he can't, not with his son's hand in his. Karen notices the tension in his body, the way his antennas spasm slightly. She knows what's coming, the inevitable retreat. With a gentle touch, she whispers, "It's okay, Plankton. You don't have to handle it if it's too much." Her words are a soothing balm, but they're not enough to calm the storm inside him. Chip's hand tightens slightly around his, and Plankton's eye snap to his son's face. He sees the trust there, the love. It's a punch to the gut, a reminder of all the moments he's missed, all the times he's failed to understand. His hand shakes, the tremble traveling up his arm. He tries to swallow the rising panic, his throat tight. But it's too much, the weight of his son's body, the heat, the smell, the touch. His mind whirrs, his senses overloading. He needs space, to think, to breathe. With a deep, shuddering inhale, he starts to pull away, his body fighting the instinct to shove Chip off the bed. Karen's hand is a gentle weight on his shoulder. "Take it slow," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm. Plankton nods, his antennas still quivering. He tries to push the panic down, to focus on the warmth of Chip's hand, the steady beat of their hearts. But the pressure builds, a crescendo of sensation threatening to crush him. He can't breathe. With a tremble, he starts to pull away, his hand sliding out from under Chip's. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice strained. "It's too much." Karen's hand remains on his shoulder, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's okay," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "We're here." The room spins around Plankton, a whirlwind of colors and shapes. His antennas wave wildly, his grip on reality slipping. He's lost in the chaos of his own mind, the sensory overload a tornado that threatens to consume him. Karen's voice is a beacon, guiding him back to shore. "Breathe," she whispers, her hand still on his shoulder. "In, out, slowly." Her words are a lifeline in the tempest. Plankton nods, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He tries to focus on the sensation of her hand, the gentle pressure of her touch. But the world keeps spinning, the colors blurring together like a watercolor painting left in the rain. He feels the bed shift as Karen sits beside him, her presence a grounding force. "Just breathe," she says, her voice a soft mantra. "You're okay." His chest rises and falls in quick succession, his body's desperate attempt to regulate itself amidst the chaos. His heart races, each beat a staccato in his ears. The room spins, the walls closing in, the ringing in his ears getting louder to where it consumes him, now impenetrable to any other sound. Karen notices the sudden pallor that sweeps over her husband's face, the way his body sags into the bed. Her eyes fill with concern, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "Look at me," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "Take deep breaths." But the ringing in his head is too loud. It's consumed him and impenetrable. He can't hear her. He doesn't hear anything. Karen's voice is a distant echo, the words swallowed by the cacophony in his mind. Her hand on his shoulder is the only real thing, the only anchor keeping him from being swept away. The room spins faster, the colors bleeding into one another until all Plankton can see is a kaleidoscope of sensory overload. The ringing in his ears crescendos, drowning out the world. His chest feels tight, his lungs desperate for air that won't come. He's adrift in a sea of panic, unable to find his way back to the shore. Karen's voice cuts through the din, her hand a firm reminder of reality. "Look at me," she says, her eyes locked on his, her voice a steady lighthouse guiding his way back. "Just me, just us." But Plankton's not hearing anymore. The room is spinning, the colors a whirlwind of chaos. He's lost in the tornado of his own making, the sensory overload a prison he can't escape. His hand shakes, his body tense as his mind begs for reprieve. Karen's eyes widen with concern. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Look at me." She moves closer, her hand reaching for his face. Her touch is a grounding force, but it's not enough. He's too far gone. The room spins, a blur of color and sound. Plankton's eye is wide with panic, his body trembling. The bed seems to shift beneath him, the walls closing in. His breaths are shallow, his chest tight. He's lost in the tornado of his senses. Karen's hand on his shoulder is a lifeline, but his mind is too far gone. Her voice is a distant whisper, the words unintelligible. All he can feel is the crushing weight of the world pressing down on him, the lights too bright, the noises too loud. And then Chip stirs in his sleep. The movement sends a shiver down Plankton's spine, his body tightening like a coiled spring. The ringing in his ears reaches a crescendo, drowning out everything else. He tries to push the panic back down, to find the calm he desperately needs, but it's like trying to hold back the tide with a paper wall. Karen's eyes are filled with fear as she sees Plankton's descent into overwhelm. She knows the signs all too well. Her hand on his shoulder is now a firm grip, trying to keep him tethered to the here and now. "Look at me," she says, her voice a gentle command. "Just me, just us." But Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his mind swirling with a torrent of sensations that make him feel like he's falling into a bottomless pit. The room seems to spin faster, the light from the window a piercing glare that slices through his retina. He wants to shield his eye, but his arm feels like lead, too heavy to lift. Karen's touch is the only constant, her hand on his shoulder the one thing that feels real amidst the sensory maelstrom. But even that is slipping away as his dizziness crescendos into full-blown vertigo. His vision blurs, the lines of reality smearing into a nauseating whirl of color and light. "Plankton," she says, her voice urgent. "Look at me." The words echo in his head, a distant call amidst the chaos. He tries to focus on her face, her eyes the only constant in the whirlwind of sensations. But the world spins, faster and faster, until all he can see is a blur of color. Her hand on his shoulder is a lifeline, but it's slipping away. He feels himself falling, tumbling into the void of his own mind. His body is a marionette, his strings cut by the storm. The ringing in his ears reaches a crescendo, a symphony of panic that consumes him. Karen's eyes are wide with fear, her grip on him desperate. "Look at me," she repeats, her voice steady. "You're okay." Her hand moves to his face. But Plankton's gaze is glassy, his pupil dilated. He's trapped in the chaos of his senses. The ringing in his ears is a siren's call, pulling him deeper. Karen's hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, the softness of her touch a stark contrast to the harshness of the world invading his mind. "Look at me," she repeats, her voice a whisper. "You're safe." Her thumb traces the line of his jaw, a gentle guide. But Plankton's eye is glassy, lost in the storm. Her words are gentle, trying to soothe him. But the flames are too high, too strong. He's drowning in his own senses. With a tremble, Karen's hand moves to his cheek, her touch a soft caress. "Look at me," she whispers, her voice a lifeline thrown into the tempest. "You're ok."