Hannacore Emojis & Text

NEW REALITY viii (Autistic author) "I don't understand," she says, her voice filled with distress. Plankton's hand clenches, his body vibrating with tension. "Numbers," he repeats, his voice edging on a scream. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes widen, her smile fading to a look of horror. "But Plankton," she says, her voice shaking, "it's just a clock." But her words are like fuel on the fire of his distress. He steps closer to the clock, his hand outstretched as if to will it to silence. "Numbers," he whispers, his voice a plea. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes fill with sympathy, but her words only worsen his agitation. "Plankton, it's just a clock," she says, reaching out to touch him. Karen's heart hammers in her chest as she sees his body tense even further. "Hanna, don't," she warns, her voice tight. "Please don't touch him right now." But Hanna doesn't hear her, her own voice rising with frustration. "It's just a clock, Plankton," she repeats, her hand covering his shoulder. "Nothing's going to hurt you.." The touch sends him spiraling, his body convulsing with overstimulation. "No touch!" he screams, his hand slapping at her arm, his face a mask of fear and anger. But Plankton's outburst has ignited something in Hanna, a spark of anger. "Why can't you just be normal?" she snaps, her voice echoing through the tense room. Karen's heart breaks as Plankton's eye goes wide, his body jerking away from her. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. But Hanna's words keep coming, a barrage of misunderstanding. "You can't just ignore us," she says, her voice rising. "You have to interact with the world." Plankton's body recoils, his skin seemingly vibrating with each of her words. "Interact," he echoes, his voice strained. Karen's heart is in her throat. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. "You're not helping." But Hanna's eyes are glassy with frustration. "How can I help if he won't even look at me?" she asks, ignoring the desperation in Plankton's gaze as she holds his arms tightly. Karen's eyes plead with her, but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen. "Let go," Plankton whimpers, his voice tight with tension. Hanna's smile is forced, her grip unyielding. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice laced with irritation. "You can't just..." But her words cut him like knives. "Look away," he murmurs, his voice strained, his body begging for the pressure to ease. Hanna's smile falters, her grip tightening. "Why can't you just look at me?" she asks, her voice edged with annoyance. Plankton's breath hitches, his antennae drooping. "Can't," he whispers, his gaze flickering between her and Karen. Hanna's eyes narrow, her grip on his arms tightening. "You can," she insists, her voice firm. "Just..." But Plankton's whimpers grow louder, his body shaking with the effort to pull away. Hanna's smile fades, her grip tightening in frustration. "Why can't you just be like everyone else?" she asks, her tone no longer gentle. Plankton's whimpers become sobs, his body shaking with the effort to break free. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she watches the scene unfold, her heart breaking for him. Hanna's grip remains firm, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Why are you doing this?" she demands, her voice sharp. "You're just being difficult." Plankton's sobs grow more desperate, his body twisting in her grasp. "Let go," he whispers, his voice a strained plea. Hanna's eyes flash with irritation. "Why ca--" Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Hanna, please," she says, stepping between them. "You're upsetting him." But Hanna's confusion turns to anger. "How can I not be upset?" she retorts, her grip on Plankton's arms tightening. "He won't even..." Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Please, Hanna," she says, her eyes pleading. "You don't understand." Suddenly, Plankton's legs buckle, his body going slack as Hanna finally releases his arms. He crumples to the floor. He's retreating, Karen realizes, her heart racing. He's retreating into himself. Karen's eyes fill with fear as she watches him, his sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a prayer. Hanna's face falls, her anger replaced with shock. "What's wrong with him?" she asks, her voice trembling. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she crouches beside him. "It's a condition," she says, her voice tight with frustration. "He needs time and space to process everything." Hanna's face crumples, her hands going to her mouth. "I didn't know," she whispers, her eyes wide with regret. "I'm sorry." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's huddled form. "It's not your fault," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "But we all have to learn." Hanna nods, her eyes brimming with tears. Karen wraps her arms around Plankton, her touch gentle. "It's okay," she murmurs. "I'm here." He trembles against her, sobbing. Hanna stands there, apology etched in every line of her face. "What can I do?" she whispers. Karen looks up, her eyes wet. "Just give us a moment," she says, her voice a gentle command. Hanna nods, backing away slowly, her eyes on Plankton. "Okay," she murmurs, the weight of her words heavy in the silent room. Karen holds Plankton tightly, his body a trembling mass of emotion. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're safe." He nests his head into her shoulder, his whimpers softening to quiet sobs. The room feels thick with their shared pain, the air charged with the tension of misunderstanding. Hanna's eyes dart around, looking for anything that might soothe him. Karen's gaze meets hers, a silent plea for understanding. "It's called autism," Karen says softly, her voice a gentle explanation. Hanna's eyes widen, her face a canvas of realization. "Oh," she whispers, the word a soft exhalation of breath. Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's tear-stained face. "It's a spectrum," she says, her voice calm and steady. "And he's on a part of it that's very sensitive to stimulation." Hanna nods slowly, her understanding growing. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice full of regret. "I didn't know." Karen's grip tightens around Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay," she murmurs. "We're all still learning." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'll go," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mean..." Karen nods, her gaze steady. "Thank you," she whispers. "We can talk soon." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with sadness. "Of course," she says, turning to leave. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Karen and Plankton in the heavy silence. Karen's arms remain around him, her body a protective cocoon against the harshness of the world. Plankton's sobs slowly ease into quiet sniffs, his body still trembling in her embrace. Her heart aches for the pain he's feeling, the fear that Hanna's misunderstanding has brought to the surface. "I'm sorry," she whispers to him, her voice shaking. Plankton's trembles begin to subside, his breathing evening out. He pulls back, his eye searching hers. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from crying. "Not at fault." Karen's eyes fill with relief, her grip on him loosening slightly. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "We just need to find ways to help you." Plankton nods, his eye fluttering shut. Karen's mind races with thoughts of what more she can do, what she can say to make him feel safe. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a promise. "Together." Plankton's eye opens, his gaze meeting hers. "Together," he echoes, his voice a whisper. Karen's heart swells with love for him, her eyes shimmering with determination. "We'll find what works," she says, her voice firm. Plankton nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Tired.." Karen's heart breaks at the exhaustion etched into his features. "I got you, you can rest," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. They move to the couch, Plankton's body curling into her side. She wraps the weighted blanket around him, still within their embrace. His breathing slows, his body relaxing against hers. The whirring fan above offers a steady rhythm, a lullaby for his troubled mind. Karen's hand strokes his back in gentle circles, her thumb tracing patterns that seem to soothe his nerves. The fan's steady whir fills the room, a calming symphony that lulls Plankton's racing thoughts to a crawl. Karen's thumb moves in soothing circles on his back, each pass sending a ripple of comfort through him. Plankton's breathing evens, his body slack against hers. The fan's steady hum is a lullaby in the quiet room, a metronome for his racing thoughts. Karen's hand continues its soothing dance across his back, his eye finally closing. The room is a cocoon of silence, the fan's whisper the only sound breaking the stillness. Plankton's breathing slows, his body melts into Karen's embrace. Her hand continues its gentle caress, a metronome of comfort as he finally surrenders to sleep.

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."

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

PLUSH ONE xii (By NeuroFabulous) He stumbles backward, his body a maelstrom of anger and confusion. "MINE!" he shouts again, his voice cracking with fear. Karen's eyes never leave his, her own fear a mirror to his distress. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby. "Ca--" But her words are lost in the tempest of his rage. He lunges at her, the plushie a weapon in his tiny hands. Karen's instincts kick in, and she blocks the swing. "PLANKTON, STOP!" she shouts, her voice a commanding wave in the storm. But he's beyond reason, his autism a prison that locks him away. The plushie, once a source of comfort, is now a weapon of destruction. He swings it wildly, the fabric tearing under his frenzied grip. Karen dodges the flailing toy, her eyes never leaving his. "PLANKTON, PLEASE!" she shouts, her voice a desperate plea in the cacophony of his anger. But the tempest in his eye shows no sign of abating. With each swing of the plushie, Karen feels the weight of their shattered world. Her hand snatches the plushie from his grip, her movements swift and firm. He tries to grab it back, his body a wild flurry of limbs. "PLANKTON, NO!" she shouts, her voice a thunderclap. The room seems to hold its breath, the only sounds the echoes of their struggle. But Plankton's autism doesn't hear her words, doesn't feel the desperation in her touch. He wriggles in her grasp, his antennae snapping like whips of fear. The plushie hangs limp in her hand, its stuffing spilling out. "PLANKTON, STOP!" Karen's voice echoes in the room, a desperate cry to the storm that's taken him. But his autism doesn't listen. It's a beast that consumes his every thought, leaving no room for the man she knows, the man she loves. He flails and shrieks, his eye wild with panic. Karen's grip tightens, her hands firm but gentle, her heart breaking with each tiny, futile struggle. She must find a way to soothe his fear, to quiet the storm in his mind. His antennae snap at the air, his body a blur of frantic motion. "PLANKTON, STOP!" she shouts, but the words are lost in his autistic rage. She holds him at arm's length, his tiny fists clenched around the ruined plushie. Karen's mind is a frenzied symphony, her mind racing for a way to soothe his distress. With trembling hands, she cups his face, her thumbs pressing gently on his cheeks. "Look at me—" But Plankton's autism interprets her touch as an assault, his body a live wire of fear. He bites down on the plushie, his eye wide with terror. With a tremble, she releases his face. Then Hanna jumps in, unable to stand and watch any longer. "PLANKTON!" Hanna shouts, as she pins him to the wall, her hands too strong for his tiny frame. "WILL YOU DO US A FAVOR AND JUST GET OUT OF OUR LIVES?" Hanna yells as she heaves him out of the bedroom, slamming the door closed on him. On the other side of the door Plankton's antennae droop. But Plankton is eerily quiet on the other side. Hanna holds the door shut despite the silence. Karen was surprised, as she expected him to knock hard on the door.

PLUSH ONE xiii (By NeuroFabulous) Hanna looks at Karen with concern. The silence is deafening, more terrifying than the screams and chaos that just filled the room. Karen's fixed on the closed door. "Is he okay?" Hanna whispers, her voice a soft tremor. Karen's eyes fill with tears, her mind racing. "I don't know," she says, her voice a thread of fear. The quiet is a stark contrast to the tempest that was Plankton's rage. They wait, the air thick with tension, the only sounds their rapid breaths. Hanna's grip on the door handle whitens her knuckles, her screen never leaving Karen's. "I'm sorry.." But Karen's eyes are glued to the door, her heart racing. The quiet from Plankton is more unnerving than his screams. It's as if the storm has passed, but left a silence that speaks of something worse. "Is he okay?" Karen whispers. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for an answer that doesn't come. The quiet from Plankton is like a vacuum, sucking the air from the room. Karen's hand reaches for the doorknob, her fingers trembling. "Plankton?" she whispers. She opens the door slowly. In the hallway, Plankton sits on the floor, his body rigid, his antennae still. He's not moving, not blinking. Hanna gasps. Karen's hope drops. "Plankton?" she calls, her voice a soft whisper. But there's no response, no movement. He sits on the floor, his eye vacant, his body still. Hanna gasps. "What's wrong with him?" Karen's eyes widen with understanding. "It's an absence seizure," she murmurs, her voice tight. "His first one. He had an accident which left him with a disability, and the medics said such things might happen." Hanna's eyes are filled with concern. "What do we do?" she asks, her voice shaky. Karen's mind races. "We need to make sure he's safe," she says, her voice a firm whisper. She steps into the hallway, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "Don't touch him," she adds. "Jostling will do more harm than good." Plankton's tiny body is a statue, his eye unblinking. "It's okay," she whispers, though she's not sure if he can hear her. The absence seizure is a new horror, and her hand is shaking as she reaches out. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft caress. "Come back to me." But his body remains still, his antennae unmoving. The sudden stillness, the vacant stare.. Karen crouches beside him, her hand hovering just above his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. He doesn't flinch, his body a statue, his mind adrift in the abyss of his seizure. Karen's eyes are wet with tears, her fear a palpable presence in the air. She knows she must wait it out, let the seizure run its course. But it's hard, so hard, to watch him like this, so vulnerable. Her hand hovers over his shoulder. "Come back to me," she whispers, her voice a soft prayer. But he doesn't stir. The seconds tick by, each one an eternity. Hanna watches, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and pity. "I'll go clean up the mess.." But Karen shakes her head. "No, stay with him," she whispers, her eyes never leaving Plankton's frozen form. "I'll be right back." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with uncertainty. But she does as she's told, crouching beside Plankton. "It's okay," she whispers, mimicking Karen's earlier soothing tone. Karen rushes, her mind racing. She needs something to help him, to bring him back. Her eyes scan the closets for anything that might comfort him. Her hand closes around a small pillow, the fabric soft and familiar. With trembling hands, she carries it to Plankton, his body still unmoving. Gently, she places a pillow behind him. His eye is still unseeing, but she manages to put another plush in his arms. "Look," she says, her voice soft, "it's a new plush." But Plankton doesn't move, his body a statue. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a thread of hope in the silence. With trembling hands, she gently tucks the plushie into his hands, hoping the familiar texture will bring him back. Plankton's body remains rigid, his eye unblinking. Karen takes one of his tiny hands in hers, her thumb tracing soothing circles on his palm. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a soft lullaby in the silence. "It's just a seizure. It'll pass." But her words are met with only the sound of silence. "Come back to me," she murmurs, her voice a gentle caress. Plankton's body is a marble statue, cold and unyielding. The plushie in his arms is a sad reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Hanna's eyes are glued to his frozen form, her breaths shallow. "What now?" she whispers. Karen's eyes are a pool of determination. "Now we wait," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "And when he's ready, we'll be here." They sit beside him, their bodies tense with worry. The hallway is a cocoon of silence, the only sounds their gentle breaths. Karen's thumb never stops moving, tracing circles on his palm. It's a lifeline, a silent promise that she won't leave. Moments later, Plankton's antennae twitched. His eye slowly focused. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was a hopeful whisper. His body unlocked from its frozen state, his antennae drooping. "What happened?" he murmured, his voice groggy. Karen's eyes fill with relief, her grip on his hand loosening. "You had a seizure," she explains, her voice gentle. "What do you last remember?" Plankton blinks, his eye unfocused. "The...the whirlwind as the door slam.." Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a balm to his fear. "You had a bad moment, but it's over. It's getting late, and we all need some rest. I feel bad, Hanna, but we've the couch.." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "It's okay, I'll take the couch," she says, her voice filled with a newfound gentleness. "Just make sure he's ok.." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the hallway. His gaze lands on the new plushie, and his body relaxes slightly. "Thanks," he whispers, his voice a soft rumble. Karen nods, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. "Let's get you to bed, okay?" Plankton's body is a sigh of relief as he lets her lead him. His autistic mind is a jumble of sensory input, but Karen's steady touch is a beacon of comfort. In the bedroom, she helps him into bed, the softness of the sheets a gentle contrast to the harshness of his day. "Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper. Plankton shakes his head, his antennas drooping. "Just...quiet," he murmurs, his voice a weak echo of his usual determined rasp. Karen nods, her heart aching for him. She tucks the new plushie beside him, its softness a stark contrast to the turmoil he's been through. "I love you," she promises, her voice soothing. His eye meets hers, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Despite his autism, his love for her is a beacon that pierces the fog of fear. He nods, his grip on her hand a silent thank you.

PLUSH ONE xiv (By NeuroFabulous) The next morning, Hanna wakes up and goes up to the bedroom where Karen's awake, yet Plankton's still asleep. She looks at him with a mix of pity and curiosity. "How is he?" Hanna whispers, her voice tentative. Karen's eyes are filled with fatigue. "Better," she murmurs. "He's sleeping it off." Hanna nods, her gaze falling to the plushie in Plankton's arms. "What was that?" she asks, her voice a soft wonder. Karen's sigh is a symphony of exhaustion. "It's called acquired autism," she explains. "Sometimes it overwhelms him, and he does things he doesn't mean to." Hanna's eyes are filled with questions. "Does he know..." Karen nods. "He's aware," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "But it's hard for him to control. We're still learning how to navigate." Hanna looks at Plankton's peaceful form, her eyes filled with empathy. "How did it happen?" Karen's eyes cloud with pain. "An accident," she says, her voice a whisper. "He hit his head and...it changed his brain structure." Hanna's eyes widen. "I didn't know," she whispers. "I'm sorry." Karen nods, her smile sad. "It's not your fault," she says. "We're all just doing our best to adjust." Plankton stirs, his eye blinking open. He looks up at them, his gaze filled with trepidation and confusion. "Hi, Plankton," Hanna says, her voice a soft melody in the early morning silence. He stares at her, his antennae quivering. "Do you remember what happened?" Plankton's eye darts around the room, the plushie a silent sentinel beside him. He nods, his voice a tiny echo. "Plankton, bad" he murmurs. Karen's heart squeezes with pain, her hand reaching out to stroke his antennae. "It's okay," she whispers. "You had a bad day, but today is new." Plankton's eye focuses on his plushie, his grip tightening. "It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle lullaby. He nods, his antennae still. "Tired," he murmurs. Karen nods, understanding the weight of his words. "Rest," she says, her voice a soft command. Plankton's body relaxes into the bed, his eye drifting closed. Hanna watches them, her heart aching with emotion. This isn't the Plankton she heard of, the villain with a heart of greed. This is a man lost in his own mind, navigating a world that no longer makes sense. Her eyes fill with tears as she sees the tender way Karen cares for him, her patience a stark contrast to the chaos of his autism. She knows she's been wrong, that there's more to him than the stories suggest. Hanna steps closer, her voice a gentle inquiry. "How can I help?" Karen's eyes meet hers, gratitude in their depths. "Just...just be patient," she whispers. "And kind." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still on the plushie. Karen can see the fear lurking beneath the surface. "We'll get through this," she promises, her voice a soft melody of hope. He nods, his antennae still. "Sorry," he whispers, his voice a brittle shell. Karen's heart cracks, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "You have nothing to apologize for," she says, her voice a warm embrace. Hanna watches the tender exchange, her own heart swelling with compassion. "What can we do to help?" she asks, her voice a gentle caress. Karen's eyes are filled with a quiet determination. "We need to find a way to make his world better," she says. "Less overwhelming." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "What does he like?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen's smile is a sad memory. "Routine," she says. "Predictability. And now plushies. They're...important." Hanna nods, her eyes studying Plankton's sleepy face. They sit in silence, each lost in thought. The morning sun peeks through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. In the quiet, the weight of the new reality sinks in; Plankton's autism is a journey none of them had expected. His mind, once a whirlwind of cunning and schemes, now operates with a different rhythm, a pattern of sensory needs.

PLUSH ONE xv (By NeuroFabulous) Hanna's eyes are glued to Plankton's peaceful form, aching for the fear and confusion she's seen in his eye. "What can we do for him?" she asks, her voice a gentle prodding. Karen looks up. "We need to adapt his environment," she says, her voice a soft determination. "Reduce the sensory input, establish comforts." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "What kind of comforts?" she asks, curiosity piqued. "Oh, like the plushie? What's the plush..." Karen's voice trails off as she considers Hanna's question. "Well, yes," she says, her voice a soft explanation. "But it's more than that. It's about creating a space that's safe for him, that doesn't overstimulate his senses." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "How do we do that?" she asks, her curiosity genuine. "We start by understanding his triggers," Karen says, her gaze thoughtful. "The noise, the lights, the...chaos." Hanna nods, her mind racing. "And the plushies?" she prompts, her voice a soft probe. Karen's smiling. "They're... I guess comfort objects," she explains. "For someone with autism, such items can be a lifeline." Hanna nods, her curiosity piqued. "But why a plushie?" she asks, her voice a soft wonder. Karen looks at Plankton, his body curled around the fluffy toy. "It's about softness, and predictability," she says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Plushies have a certain...comfort to them. They're consistent, familiar. And when his world is too much, it's something he can hold onto, something that won't change." Hanna nods slowly, her gaze still on the plushie. "So, it's like a...security blanket?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen nods. "Exactly," she says, her voice filled with understanding. "But for his autism, it's even more. It's a constant in a world that ca--" But Plankton's eye snaps open, his antennae shooting up. "Karen," he whispers, his voice filled with panic. She quickly turns to him, her hand ready to offer comfort. "What is it?" He points at Hanna, his fear palpable. "Hanna," he stammers. "Hanna new. Too loud. Hanna hurt. Hanna made everything go...spinny." Hanna's eyes fill with tears, her hand reaching out to him. "I'm so—" But Plankton flinches, his body coiling away from Hanna's touch. Hanna's hand stops mid-air, her eyes wide with surprise. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice gentle. "I'm not going t---" But he's already retreated to the corner of the room, his tiny body shaking. "No touch," he murmurs, his antennae quivering. "No loud." Karen's heart clenches. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "But Hanna is our friend, she's just trying to he-" But Plankton's panic interrupts her. "Friend?" he whispers, his voice filled with doubt. "No. Everything changed. Hanna not good." Karen's eyes are filled with pain, her heart breaking for him. "I know it's scary," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "But Ha—" "NO!" Plankton screams, his body convulsing with fear. "No Hanna!" Hanna jumps back, her eyes wide with shock. Her hand had hovered over his plushie, intending to give it a comforting pat before reaching out to give it to him. But for Plankton, that's crossing a line. "No touch," he whispers, his antennae quivering with anxiety. "MINE." Hanna's eyes widen, the plushie still in her hand. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice a soft apology. Her heart aches for him, his fear a stark reminder of the distance between them now. She holds the plushie out to him, her hand shaking. "It's yours," she says, her voice a gentle offer. But Plankton's panic doesn't abate. His eye is a storm of confusion and fear. "MINE," he whispers, his antennae vibrating with tension. Hanna's hand hovers motionless, the plushie dangling between them. She looks to Karen for guidance, her eyes filled with worry. Karen's eyes are understood, her voice a soothing lullaby. "It's okay, Plankton," she coos. "Hanna just wanted to give it back." Slowly, she steps towards the trembling figure of Plankton, her movements careful not to startle him. But Plankton's gaze is fixed on Hanna, his antennae quivering with distress. "No," he murmurs, his voice a soft protest. "MINE." Hanna's eyes are filled with confusion as she looks at the plushie in her hand. She had only wanted to help, to comfort her newfound friend. But now she feels like an intruder in his world. Karen steps closer, her movements deliberately slow. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Hanna means no ha-" But Plankton's fear has turned to anger, his tiny fists balled up. "MINE!" he screams at Hanna, his voice sharp. Her hand jerks back, the plushie dropping to the floor. "I didn't mean to..." Her words are drowned out by Plankton's cries. Karen's heart aches as she watches Hanna's hurt expression. "It's okay," she says, her voice a soft caress. "We're all just trying to fi-" But Plankton's screams cut her off. His fear has escalated into rage, his tiny fists pounding the floor. "MINE!" he shouts, his voice furious. Hanna's eyes are wide with shock, her hand still hovering above the plushie. She didn't mean to take it, didn't mean to cause such distress. But Plankton's reaction is instinctive, primal. "HANNA GIVE BACK!" he shouts, his tiny body quaking with fear. Hanna's eyes are filled with sorrow as she drops to her knees, setting the plushie on the floor. "Here," she says, her voice a soft plea. "It's yo-" But Plankton's rage won't abate. He stares at the plushie, his breaths shallow. Karen moves closer, her eyes filled with pain. "Plankton, it's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle caress. "You can have it." Slowly, Hanna retreats, her eyes on the floor. Karen's gaze follows hers, seeing the plushie lying there, a symbol of their misunderstanding. "It's okay," she repeats, her voice a soft promise. Plankton's anger subsides as he watches Karen's approach. He recognizes her comforting strides, her calming presence. Her hand extends towards his plushie, a silent offer to bridge the gap. He looks at her, his eye narrowing. But the fear is still there, the memory of the plushie's theft fresh. His antennae quiver, his body tense. Karen's hand hovers over the plushie, her movements slow and deliberate. "It's okay," she whispers. "You can have it back." Plankton's gaze flickers between the plushie and Hanna's retreating form. He reaches out tentatively, his hand trembling. As he touches the soft plush, his body relaxes, the fear ebbing away. The plushie is a talisman of comfort, a silent sentinel in his autistic world. He clutches it to his chest, his eye closed in relief.

PLUSH ONE xvi (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's eyes are a pool of understanding as she watches him, her heart aching for his pain. She knows the plushie is more than just a toy; it's a piece of his sanity in a world that's turned too loud, too bright. She moves closer, her hand hovering near his.. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening. "No," he whispers, his voice a shaky plea. "No touch." Karen nods, her movements slow and careful. She understands his boundaries, his new sensory needs. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I won't touch. But can I sit with you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye still closed. He takes a deep breath, his tiny chest rising and falling with the effort. "Okay," he murmurs. So Karen sits down beside his shaky form. Hanna watches from the doorway, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The plushie in his hands is a lifeline, a reminder that amidst the storm of sensory input, there is something that doesn't change, that won't hurt him. Karen's presence is another constant, a beacon of comfort. But Hanna is a variable, an unknown. Her eyes are filled with sadness, a testament to the gap that's formed between them. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "I didn't me—" But Plankton interrupts. "MINE," he cries out, his antennae quivering with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's heart breaks for him. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle reminder of their bond. "It's your plushie." Plankton's grip tightens around the plush, his body a coil of tension. Hanna stands there, hands trembling. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice a soft apology in the quiet room. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's eye opens, his gaze sharp and focused. "MINE," he says again, his voice a fierce declaration. Karen's eyes are filled with pain, her hand dropping to her side. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "But Hanna meant no harm." Hanna nods, her gaze still on the plushie. "I---" But Plankton's panic interrupts her, his voice high-pitched. "No Hanna," he whispers, his antennae quivering as he shakes his head. "No take." Hanna's eyes fill with sorrow as she backs away, her hand dropping to her side. Karen's heart clenches, seeing the hurt in Hanna's eyes. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice a gentle coax. "We just need to give Plankton some space." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I understand," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "But what abou–" But Plankton's panic doesn't abate, his body constricting even further. "No," he murmurs. "No more." Hanna's eyes are filled with a mix of pity and frustration. She's tired of his outbursts, of the way his autism controls their lives. Her voice cracks. "What do you want from me!" she asks, her voice a soft cry of exasperation. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in a sensory maelstrom, unable to understand her words. "Quiet," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Everything too mu-" But Hanna's frustration has reached a boiling point. "I've tried!" she says, her voice a sharp retort. "Everything's always about you and your plushies, when all we want is to he-" Her words are cut off by Plankton's wail, his body trembling. Karen's heart clenches, her eyes filled with pain. "Hanna," she says, her voice a soft admonition. "He can't help it." But Hanna's frustration spills over. "I kn-" But Plankton's wail cuts through the room, his antennae vibrating. The plushie clutched to his chest is a silent cry for help. Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she watches, her frustration boiling over. "Why can't you just...be normal!" she asks, her voice a desperate plea. Karen's gaze snaps to her, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "What do you mean by 'normal'?" she asks, her voice a soft challenge. "Plankton is who he is. His autism is part of him, not something to 'fix'." Hanna's shoulders slump, her eyes welling up with tears. "I know," she murmurs, her voice a soft apology. "I just...I miss the old Plankton you've told me about." Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "We all do," she says. "But he's still in there, just...different now." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton's trembling form. "I know," she murmurs. "I just... I don't know how to help." Karen's smile is sad, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're already helping," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "Just by being here, by caring." Hanna looks down, her eyes misty. "But it's not enough," she whispers, gesturing to Plankton. Karen's eyes are filled with empathy. "It's a new journey," she says, her voice a soft reminder. "For all of us." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see the fear and confusion in his eye, the way his antennae quiver. It's a stark contrast to the Plankton she's heard of, the one with a sharp mind and a love for Krabby Patties. Karen's voice is a gentle guidance. "We need to learn his new language," she says. "Find a way to reach him without crossing his lines." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton's shaking body. "How do we do that?" she asks, her voice a soft curiosity. Karen's eyes are filled with knowledge. "It's about patience," she says. "And learning his cues." Hanna nods. "What do you mean?" Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she explains. "His autism has changed his communication," she says, her voice a soft explanation. "It's not just words anymore; it's gestures, sounds, and expressions." Hanna's gaze flickers to Plankton's shaking antennae, his eye squeezed shut. "So, what do we do?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen's hand is a soft touch on Hanna's arm. "We watch," she whispers. "We learn."

PLUSH ONE xvii (By NeuroFabulous) They sit in silence, observing Plankton's shaking form. His antennae quiver in time with his ragged breaths. Hanna's eyes are a pool of uncertainty, but she nods. They watch as Plankton's body relaxes, his antennae stilling. He opens his eye, his gaze searching the room. Karen's heart clenches as she sees the fear in his eye. Hanna's hand twitches, wanting to reach out, but she stops herself. She's learned his boundaries, the invisible walls of his autism. "Plankton?" she whispers, her voice soft. His antennae twitch, his eye snapping to her. "What?" he says, his voice a defensive whisper. Hanna's voice is tentative, her hand hovering in the air. "I'm... I'm not taking your plushie," she says, her eyes filled with sincerity. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze still wary. "Help?" he whispers, his voice a soft question. Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes," she says, her voice gentle. "We're here for you." Plankton's antennae still, his gaze unreadable. Karen's heart is a tight knot of fear and hope. "It's okay," she whispers. "We're a team, remember?" His eye flickers, a glimpse of the Plankton she knows, the one who used to laugh and scheme. Slowly, he nods. Karen's heart soars with relief. "Good," she whispers. "We're here." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tense. He's not sure how to respond to this new dynamic, where his fear dictates their interactions. He looks at the plushie in his arms, the soft fabric comforting against his skin. It's a constant in a world that's shifted on its axis. Karen's eyes are filled with understanding. "We'll find a way," she whispers, her voice a soft promise. "Together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze flicking between Karen and Hanna. He feels their warmth, their care. Slowly, he nods. "Plankton," Hanna says, her voice a soft question. "Can I...sit with you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye darting between her and the plushie. Slowly, he nods. Hanna takes a tentative step forward, her heart racing. She sits down carefully beside him, her movements measured, not wanting to startle him. Her hand hovers, unsure if he'll let her touch him. Karen watches, her heart in her throat. She's seen this before, the struggle for understanding. But this time, it's different. This time, Hanna's here. Hanna's hand hovers over Plankton's arm, a silent offer of friendship. Plankton's eye flickers to it, then back to her face. His antennae quiver, his body tense. He's trying to process, to understand this new dynamic. Slowly, Hanna sets her hand on his arm. His body jolts, but he doesn't pull away. Karen's breath catches as she waits for his reaction. But Plankton simply looks at Hanna, his gaze searching. Hanna's hand is a gentle weight, a silent promise of support. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye blinking rapidly. He's trying to process this new sensation, this unexpected touch from someone other than Karen. Karen's heart races as she watches, her eyes never leaving his face. She sees the tension in his body, the way his eye flutters with uncertainty. Plankton's gaze is on Hanna's hand, the contact unfamiliar. He takes a deep breath, his tiny chest rising and falling with the effort. Karen's stance is poised, ready to intervene if needed. But Hanna's touch is gentle, almost imperceptible. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. He's not used to this, not used to anyone other than Karen invading his space. His new world is defined by sensory overload and the need for sameness. Karen's eyes are a silent prayer, her body poised to intervene. But she holds back, giving Hanna a chance to connect, to bridge the gap that autism has created. Hanna's hand remains steady on Plankton's arm, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body slowly relaxing. He's still on edge, his autism making him hyper- aware of the unpredictable world around him. He looks at Hanna's hand, the new sensation strange, despite not being entirely unpleasant. Karen's eyes are filled with hope, her breath held. Hanna's touch is a bridge, a tentative reach across the chasm of misunderstanding. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle reassurance. "I'm here." Plankton's antennae still, his body frozen. The plushie in his arms is a barricade against the world, a reminder of the comfort he craves. He looks at Hanna's hand. Hanna's eyes are filled with understanding, her hand still. "We're not going anywhere," she murmurs. "Take all the time you need." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body still tense. The plushie is a fortress against the chaos, but Hanna's touch is an unfamiliar presence, a threat to his carefully constructed world. He looks at Karen, his gaze pleading. Karen's eyes are filled with comprehension. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Hanna's here to help." Plankton's gaze flickers between Karen and Hanna, his tiny body coiled tight. He's not used to sharing his space, not since the world turned into a cacophony of sensory assaults. Hanna's hand remains a question mark on his arm, her eyes filled with hope. "Please," she whispers, her voice a soft plea. "We're just trying to be friends." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze flicking between Karen and Hanna. The room is too loud, too bright. His mind whirls with confusion, trying to navigate this new terrain of social interaction. He's used to Karen, her gentle voice and familiar scent. But Hanna is new. "Space," he whispers, his voice shaky. "Need space." Hanna's hand retracts, a silent apology. She nods, her eyes filled with sadness. "Okay," she says, her voice barely audible. Karen's gaze is filled with pride as she watches Hanna's understanding dawn. It's a slow process, but she's learning. "Thank you," she murmurs. Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's tense form. "It's okay," she whispers. "I'll give you space." She moves to the other side of the room, leaving a wide berth between them. Plankton's antennae twitch less frequently, his body slowly uncoiling.

PLUSH ONE xviii (By NeuroFabulous) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Karen's heart is a mix of pride and pain as she watches Hanna's retreat. Her voice is a soft lullaby. "You're doing well, Plankton," she says, her words a gentle caress. Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze on the plushie. "Doing well," he echoes, his voice a whispered refrain. It's a comfort to him, the repetition of her words, a familiar tune in a cacophony of sensory input. "Thank you," Karen says, her voice a soft melody. She knows his echolalia is a way for him to process, to find comfort in the predictable. Plankton nods, his antennae still. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice a mirror of hers. The echo of her words is a soothing balm, a reminder of their shared history. He turns his gaze back to the plushie, his voice a whisper. "You're doing well," he says, the words a comfort to himself as much as the toy. His antennae twitch, the fabric of the plush a familiar embrace against him. The room is still, the tension a palpable presence. Hanna watches from her distance, her eyes filled with curiosity. Plankton whispers to his plushie, his antennae twitching with each word. "You're doing well," he says, his voice a soft echo of Karen's. The plushie is a silent listener, absorbing his fears and worries. It's a comforting rhythm, a dance between his thoughts and the words he knows. Hanna watches from afar, her brow furrowed. The repeated phrases grate on her nerves, a steady drumbeat of sameness that she can't ignore. Her frustration builds, each echo a reminder of the barrier between them, a wall of words that don't quite fit. Plankton starts again. "Doing we–" "Stop it," Hanna says, her voice a sudden interruption. "Please, just stop repeating every thing." Her words are a knife in the silence, cutting through Plankton's comforting rhythm. He flinches, his antennae shooting up. "What?" he whispers, his voice filled with confusion. Hanna's eyes flash with frustration. "The repeating," she says, her voice tight. "It's just...it's driving me crazy!" Plankton's antennae flatten, his gaze shifting to her. He's not used to this, to someone interrupting his self-soothing. His voice is small. "What's wrong?" Hanna's eyes are filled with frustration, her hands gesturing wildly. "You keep saying the same thing!" she says, her voice a sharp contrast to his softness. Plankton's gaze is on his plushie, his voice small. "Same th-" Hanna cuts him off, her frustration palpable. "It's the same thing," she says, her voice a sharp contrast to his softness. "Why do you keep saying it? We're not babies, and your plushie can't understand!" Plankton's antennae droop, his gaze flickering to hers. "It's comfort," he whispers, his voice a shaky defense. "It's what he-" But Hanna's patience snaps. "I don't care about your stupid comfort!" she says, her voice sharp. "You're driving me crazy!" Her words are a slap, a harsh reminder of his difference. Plankton's antennae droop, his gaze shifting to the plushie. He clutches it tighter, his voice a tremble. "Comfort not stupid," he whispers. "It's how I underst--" But Hanna's frustration has overtaken her. "I get it!" she snaps. "You're just a baby with a security blanket!" The words hang in the air, a cruel accusation. Plankton's body tenses, his antennae drooping. "B-baby?" he stammers, his voice a whisper of pain. Karen's eyes are filled with sorrow as she watches Hanna's outburst, her heart aching for Plankton's hurt. "Hanna," she says, her voice a gentle reprimand. "That's not fair. It's how he processes," she says, her words a soft defense. Hanna's gaze snaps to hers, her eyes brimming with frustration. "How is this fair to us?" she demands, her voice a whip. "We can't al—" Karen's voice is a soft interruption. "Us?" she asks, her eyes filled with a gentle reproach. "Or you?" Hanna's eyes widen, her face a picture of guilt. "What?" she stammers, her voice a defensive rally. "I just—" But Plankton's antennae are already twitching, his gaze flickering between the plushie and Hanna. The words have hit their mark, a sharp pain that pierces through his comfort. "No," he whispers, his voice a soft rebuttal. "Not baby?" Hanna's face is a mask of frustration, her eyes flashing. "Then what?" she demands, her voice loud in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tight with tension, his mind reeling with confusion. "I-I'm not a baby," he whispers, his voice shaky. "It's just how I t-" But Hanna's frustration is a wave crashing over him. "I know," she says, cutting him off. "But we can't keep doing this! It's driving me crazy!" Her eyes are wild, her gestures large and erratic. "How do you think Karen feels when you just repeat everything she says? Don't you think she deserves better?" Plankton's antennae droop, his body shrinking. "Better?" he whispers, his voice a question. "What's better?" Hanna's eyes are a storm of emotions, her frustration spilling over. "You know," she says, her voice tight. "Someone who can actually contribute, not just sit there and mumble to a plushie all day, who needs us to cater to his every whim or he'll have another meltdown! Like a...like something unwanted that just needs to be put out of its misery, just to make everyone else's lives easier without keeping him in it! Even if it means ending his suffering by...by..." Her voice trails off, her eyes filling with horror at the thought she's just voiced. Plankton's antennae are motionless, his gaze on the plushie. The room feels too large, too loud, the echo of Hanna's words reverberating in his skull. "Unwanted," he whispers, his voice a soft echo. "Unaliving?" Karen's heart breaks at his pain, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "Hanna," she says, her voice a sharp reprimand. "That's enough." Hanna's eyes are wide with shock at her own words, her cheeks flushed. "I didn't mean... I just... I'm sorr-" But Plankton's gaze is on his plushie, his voice a whisper. "Unwanted," he says, his antennae quivering. "Am I?" The room is a vacuum of silence, Hanna's words echoing in their minds. Karen's eyes are filled with horror at the thought that has entered their conversation, the dark fear that Plankton might internalize. Hanna's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with regret. "No," she whispers, shaking her head. "I didn't mean it li-" But Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze on the plushie. "Karen?" he whispers, his voice filled with fear. Her heart breaks at his plea. She moves closer, kneeling by his side. "You're not unwanted, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "You're lo…" But he's not listening, his antennae twitching in a flurry of fear. "Life," he whispers, his voice a tiny thread of terror. "Don't take me away." Karen's eyes widen with understanding. His autism has made him hyper-sensitive to the emotions in the room, picking up on Hanna's frustration and turning it into a monstrous fear. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "You're safe. We–" But Plankton's antennae are a blur of panic, his gaze on his plushie. "Wanting to make unalive," he whispers, his voice shaky. "I heard it." Hanna's eyes are wide with disbelief, her voice a desperate plea. "Plankton, no," she says, her voice a soft apology as she reaches out to touch him. "I didn't mean tha-" But Plankton's antennae are already retreating, his body shrinking away from her touch. "Don't," he whispers, his voice a tremble of fear. "Don't take me." Hanna's hand freezes, her eyes filled with horror at the thought she's instilled in him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a desperate apology. "I didn't mean it." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze never leaving hers. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Am I gonna..." But Karen's touch is swift, intercepting Hanna's hand. "No," she says firmly, her voice a shield of calm. "Nobody's going to hurt you, Plankton."

PLUSH ONE xix (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's eyes are on Hanna, a silent reprimand. Hanna's hand drops to her side, her screen filled with regret. "Plankton, I'm ju—" But it's too late. Plankton's body is wracked with sobs, his antennae thrashing as his fear overwhelms him. The plushie falls to the floor, abandoned in his desperate attempt to escape the horror Hanna's words have conjured. Karen's arms reach out to him. "No, no, no," she whispers. "You're safe, Plankton. Yo--" But his body is a wild storm of fear, his sobs escalating into convulsions. His antennae whip around, striking the air in a silent scream of terror. Karen's heart shatters as she watches, her own hands hovering, unsure how to comfort him without causing more harm. Hanna's eyes are wide with horror, her own sobs joining the cacophony. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a desperate apology. "I di-" But Plankton's fear is a storm, his antennae a blur of panic. "Karen, make it stop," he cries, his voice a desperate plea. "Make it STOP͏!" The room seems to spin around him, his senses assaulted by Hanna's regret and his own fear. The plushie is forgotten, a discarded comfort in the face of the horror. Karen's gentle voice is a lifeline, a soft whisper in the chaos. "You're safe," she says, her voice a promise. "You're with me—" But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his convulsions more pronounced. His tiny body is a crumpled mess on the floor, his autism a cage of panic he can't escape. "Make it stop," he cries, his voice a desperate wail. "Please, make it stop!" Hanna's eyes are filled with determination as she retrieves the plushie, carefully bringing it back to his trembling form. "Here," she whispers. "I---" But Plankton is a maelstrom, his body twitching beyond control. His eye rolls back in his head. Karen's heart races as she watches him seize, her mind racing. Her hands hover over him, knowing not to touch. Hanna's eyes are wide, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What's happening?" she sobs, her voice shaking. Karen's eyes are filled with fear as she watches his tiny body convulse, his sobs turning to silent screams. "It's a seizure," she whispers, her voice tight. Hanna's eyes widen, her hand dropping the plushie as if it's a live wire. "What do we do?" she asks, her voice high-pitched with panic. Karen's gaze is focused on Plankton's convulsing body. "Don't touch him," she says, her voice a command. "Just stay calm." She moves swiftly, getting a pillow and placing it under his head. Hanna's eyes are glued to his twitching form, her breath coming in gasps. "Is he going to be okay?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "Do we need to call..." But Karen's eyes are on Plankton, her movements swift and sure. "No," she murmurs, her voice a soft command. "It's overstimulation. We have to calm him down. It's part of his disability. An ambulance will just make it worse, by adding more noise and claustrophobia. Hospitalization will create unnecessary trauma." Hanna's eyes are wide with terror, her hands shaking as she watches Plankton's convulsions. "But he-" Karen's voice cuts through the chaos. "Trust me," she says, her gaze unwavering. "We need to calm him, not add more stress." Hanna nods, her eyes locked on Plankton's distress. "What do we do?" Karen's voice is calm. "Find a favorite blanket," she says, her eyes never leaving his twitching form. "And dim the lights, reduce the noise." Hanna's legs are a blur as she rushes to comply, grabbing the softest blanket. Her hands shake as she gently drapes it over him, his convulsions jolting against the fabric. Hanna's eyes are wide with panic as she watches, her voice a whisper. "Is he going to be okay?" Karen's gaze is unwavering on Plankton, her voice steady. "We need to stay calm," she says, her hands a gentle guide. "It's his autism, it's how he can react to stress." Hanna's eyes are on the floor, her breath shallow. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the weight of her words heavy. "I didn't kn-" But Karen's voice is steady. "It's okay," she says, her voice a calm reminder. "We're here." Her eyes are on Plankton, her body a wall of protection. "Let's help him." Together, they work to soothe him, Hanna's hands shaking as she follows Karen's calm instructions. They dim the lights, reduce the noise, and cover him in the warm embrace of his favorite blanket. Hanna gets the plushie and goes up to him. Plankton's body jerks under the blanket, his antennae still a blur of fear. Karen strokes his head gently, her eyes filled with a fierce determination to keep him safe. "Hey," Hanna says, holding out the plushie. "Do you want this?" Her voice is tentative. "Plankton, can you tell me w---" But Plankton's eye is squeezed shut, his body a writhing mess of limbs. The seizure is a silent scream, a desperate protest. Hanna's hand shakes as she holds out the plushie, her words a plea. "Plankton, it's okay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You're not unwanted." Plankton's body continues to convulse, his antennae a blur of panic. Karen then turns to Hanna. "You need to let him breathe," Karen says, her voice a soft command. "We can only help him by letting his body do its thing. If you talk, make sure it's quiet and calm, short and sweet, and be truthful with your reassurances. Do not force anything on him." Hanna nods, tears streaming down her screen, her voice a whisper. "Okay." She watches as Karen's gentle touch soothes Plankton, his seizure beginning to subside as she rubs his back in slow, even strokes. The plushie is placed near his hand, a silent offer of comfort. The seizure gradually loosens its grip on Plankton's body, his sobs subsiding into hiccups. Plankton's eye finds Karen's, a silent plea for reassurance. Her voice is a soft caress. "It's okay," Karen whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body slowly calming. He clutches the plushie, his eye on Karen. "Home," he whispers, his voice a desperate plea. "Yes," Karen says. "We're home, in our bedroom." Plankton's antennae still, his gaze searching for the familiar. Hanna backs away, her eyes filled with regret. Karen notices and nods slightly, a silent acknowledgment of Hanna's apology. His body relaxes further, his breathing slowing. The plushie is a warm comfort, but it's Karen's voice that holds his world together. "You're safe, Plankton," she whispers. "You're home." Hanna watches from her distance, her eyes filled with regret. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze shifting to Hanna. Her eyes are filled with remorse, a silent apology that he can't quite decode. His mind is a jumble of fears and questions. "Hanna," he whispers, his voice a tremble. "I-I'm not a b-b-baby? Plankton stays living..." Hanna's face crumples, her sobs joining his. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers. "You're not a baby, you're Plankton. And you're not unwanted. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she looks at Hanna, knowing the depth of her regret. "It's okay," she says softly. "It's new for all of us." She turns back to Plankton, her voice a gentle whisper. "You're safe here. We're all learning." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on Hanna's shaking form. His voice is a question. "Hanna?" Her voice cracks as she whispers back, "I'm here." Her hand reaches out tentatively, still afraid to touch him. "I'm so sorry for what I said." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze flickering to her hand. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a shaky echo. "But...but it's not okay," he adds, his eye filling with confusion. Hanna's hand hovers, uncertain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a tremulous thread. Plankton's gaze is on the plushie, his voice a whispered confession. "I'm not the same," he says, his words a soft acknowledgment. "I'm...different." Hanna's hand stops, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're still Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "You're still the same person, yet you've some new aspects.." Plankton's antennae still, his eye searching hers. "Different," he whispers, his voice filled with the weight of his new reality. Hanna nods, her hand still outstretched. "But that doesn't make you less important," she says, her voice a soft promise. "Or less loved." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze flickering between his plushie and Hanna's hand. He reaches out slowly, his hand trembling, and takes her hand, holding it for a moment before he takes his hand back. Hanna's eyes are wet with relief, her voice a whisper. "Thank you," she says. Plankton's antennae twitch in acknowledgment, his gaze still on the plushie. "It's...it's just...I'm still me," he says, his voice shaky. "But, things are... different, now." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with a newfound understanding. "I know," she whispers. Her hand moves towards him again, this time with more confidence. Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze shifting from the plushie to Hanna's hand. "I know," Hanna says, her voice a gentle whisper. "But you're still Plankton, and we're here for you." Her hand moves closer, a silent offer of friendship. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering to her hand, then back to the plushie. "Home," he whispers again, his voice a tremble. Hanna nods, her eyes filled with a newfound respect for the complexity of his needs. "Home," she repeats, her voice a gentle echo. "You're home with your wife Karen. Would you like to hold my hand?" Plankton's antennae still, his gaze shifting to Karen. She nods, her eyes filled with a silent understanding. He reaches out tentatively, his tiny hand grasping Hanna's finger briefly before retreating. It's a small gesture, but it's a start. Hanna's eyes widen with hope, her voice a whisper. "Thank you," she says, her hand hovering in the air.

PLUSH ONE xx (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's antennae twitch in a way that seems almost thoughtful. "Hanna," he says, his voice tentative. "Hanna, Karen's friend, Karen's friend's okay." Her eyes fill with hope at his words, her hand still hovering. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. "May I sit with you, or..." But Plankton's gaze is fixed on the plushie. "Not close," he murmurs, his voice a soft refusal. "Some space, if Hanna sit with space." Hanna nods, her heart racing as she moves to the floor near him, maintaining a respectful distance. Karen's eyes never leave his, her voice a soft guide. "Good job, Plankton," she whispers. "You're doing so well." He starts to rock slightly, in a pattern that seems almost rhythmic. It's a new behavior, one Karen recognizes as stimming. She's heard about it, how it can mean those with autism self-soothe and process the world around them. His eye is fixed on the plushie, his hand moving on it in small, repetitive motions. Hanna watches Plankton's soft rocking with a mix of fascination and fear. "What's happening?" she asks, her voice barely above a murmur. "It's called stimming," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle explanation. "It's how he's processing everything right now. It's like his brain's way of saying, 'I'm okay, I can handle this.'" Hanna's eyes are wide with interest as she watches, her fear slowly giving way to curiosity. "Is it...good?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's rhythmic motion. "It's a way for his brain to calm down," she whispers. "It's like a security blanket for his nervous system." Hanna's gaze is still on him, her curiosity overcoming her fear. "Can I do anything?" she asks, her voice a soft offer of help. Karen nods. "You can talk to him, keep it calm and soothing." Her eyes meet Hanna's, her expression filled with compassion. "Use simple words, and let him know you're here." Hanna's voice is soft. "Plankton," she says, her tone gentle. "It's okay to rock, it's okay to feel better." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flicking towards her briefly before returning to his plushie. The rocking continues, a gentle sway that seems to calm the storm of his thoughts. "You're safe, Plankton," Hanna whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby. "We're right here." His antennae twitch, his rocking slowing as he takes in her words. His hand still strokes the plushie, his body slowly calming. Hanna watches, her voice a soft echo. "Plankton, I'm sorry," she says, her eyes filled with sincerity. "I didn't understand." Plankton's antennae twitch, his rocking pausing. He looks at her, his gaze uncertain. Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his antennae still. "Hanna talk quiet," he whispers. "It's okay." Her voice is gentle. "I will, I'm sorry," she promises, her eyes never leaving his. Karen watches with a mix of pride and fear, her heart swelling at Hanna's effort to understand. She nods encouragingly, her eyes telling Hanna to keep it up. "Good job, Plankton," Hanna whispers, mimicking Karen's calm tone. "You're doing so well." She takes a deep breath, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze steady on him. "Is there anything you'd like? Something that would make you feel more comfortable? Or w---" "Too much," he murmurs, his voice a whispered plea. "Questions, too much. Not fast, only each at a time." Hanna nods, her heart racing. "Okay," she says, her voice gentle. "What can I do with you right now?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze on the plushie. "Reading?" he asks, his voice a whispered hope. "Book makes good feeling." Hanna's eyes light up, relieved to have a task. "Of course," she says, her voice a soft promise. She moves to the bookshelf, her eyes scanning the titles. "Which one, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his voice a soft whisper. "The physics one," he says, his gaze still on the plushie. Hanna's eyes find the book, a faded blue spine among the colorful array. Her eyes widen with surprise, but she doesn't question it. Instead, she opens the book to the first page, her voice a calm narration. "Alright," she says, her tone soothing. "Let's start with the intro..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with impatience. "No, no," he whispers, his voice urgent. "Index. Index is good." Hanna's brow furrows, but she nods, understanding. She opens the book to the back, her eyes scanning the pages. "Index," she repeats, her voice a soft question. Plankton's antennae still, his gaze on her. "Yes," he whispers, his voice a sigh of relief. "Words, titles with their page numbers." Hanna nods, her eyes scanning the dense pages of the index. "Here," she says, her voice a soft guidance. "Let's look at the list of topics together." Plankton's antennae quiver with anticipation, his gaze flicking from Hanna to the book and back again. "Good," he whispers. "Good, good, good." Hanna's eyes scan the index, her voice calm and measured as she reads off the headings. "Wave particles," she says, her voice a gentle melody. "Quantum mechanics, gravity, light refraction..." "No; bad Hanna. Include page numbers!" He interrupts her. Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods, her voice calm. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her finger tracing the words. "Let's start again." She reads out the first entry, her voice a soft lullaby. "Wave particles, pages 47-52." Plankton's antennas twitch with interest, his eye darting to the book. "Is that okay?" she asks, her eyes searching his for approval. He nods eagerly. "Good," she says, her voice a gentle affirmation. "Wave particles, pages 47-52." She continues, her finger gliding over the small print. "Quantum mechanics, pages 104-130." Plankton's antennae dance with excitement, his eye locked on her movements. "More," he whispers, his voice a plea for knowledge. Hanna's voice is a steady rhythm as she reads through the index. "Electromagnetism, pages 173-208," she says, her voice a gentle guide. Plankton's rocking swayed in time with her words, his body still, his breathing even. He's found comfort in the orderly list, the predictability of each topic and its corresponding pages. It's a small victory, but in the quiet aftermath of his seizure, it feels like a monumental one. Hanna's voice is a soft steady beat, her eyes never leaving his. "Gravity, pages 243-270," she reads, each entry a stepping stone back to the person he knows himself to be. Plankton's eye flutters closed, the rocking slowing down. His breathing evens out. "Good," he murmurs, his voice quiet. "Good, good." Hanna reads on. "Relativity, pages 315-360," she whispers, as she can feel his tension ease with each page number she says. "Dark matter," she continues, "pages 402-430." His antennae twitch in agreement, his body relaxing further into the comfort of the blanket. He leans closer to Hanna. "Good," he whispers, his voice a soft echo. "More." Hanna nods, her eyes flickering between the index and Plankton. "Supernovae," she says, her voice a gentle guide. "Pages 512-540." Plankton relaxes even further. His antennae twitch, his eye half-closed. "Good," he whispers. "Good book." Her voice is a soft narration, her finger tracing the words. "Quantum entanglement, pages 623-650." Plankton's body relaxes fully, the plushie still a warm comfort in his hand as his head tilts to Hanna's shoulder. Her voice is a gentle whisper. "Time dilation, pages 701-730." Plankton's antennae still, his breathing now deepening into sleep. Hanna keeps reading. "Particle physics, pages 801-830," she continues. Karen watches from the doorway, her heart swelling with love. This is the Plankton she knows, the one who finds comfort in the ordered chaos of the universe. She smiles at Hanna, her eyes filled with a quiet pride. Hanna continues. "String th-" But she's cut off by a soft snore from Plankton's relaxed form. His antennae are still, his grip on the plushie loose. She looks up, her eyes meeting Karen's. Surprise fills her gaze. "Is he...asleep?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Karen nods, a small smile touching her lips. "Looks like it," she whispers. "Good job, Hanna." Hanna's heart races, his head heavy on her shoulder. Plankton's sleep is deep, his body a testament to the peace he's found in the comfort of the book and their calm voices. Karen approaches them, her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb him. Hanna looks up, her eyes questioning. "What do we do now?" she whispers, her voice a soft concern, his tiny hand loosely clutching the plushie. "We need to get him to bed," Karen says, her voice a gentle command. "But we have to be careful not to wake him." Hanna nods, her movements mirroring Karen's calmness. They stand slowly, their eyes on Plankton's peaceful face. "Ready?" Karen whispers, and together, they lift him by his blanket-cocooned form, his head resting on Hanna's shoulder. They move as one, a silent ballet of care and precision. Each step is calculated, each shift of weight measured. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, but he remains oblivious to the world around him, even when the plushie falls out of his grasp. Hanna gasps. "Got it," she whispers. Karen nods, a silent thanks. They continue the delicate transfer, the plushie tucked between his body and the softness of the blanket. They lay him down, the plushie nestled under his arm, his body still relaxed in sleep. Hanna helps tuck him in, her movements careful not to disturb the fragile peace. Karen nods, her eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "Good," she whispers. "Just like that." His antennae twitch slightly, a soft snore escaping him. Hanna's hands are steady as she slides the plushie under his arm, her movements gentle and precise. They stand back, their breaths held, watching as Plankton's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Karen's hand reaches out to Hanna's, a silent gesture of solidarity. They've managed this together, his peace a testament to their unity.

PLUSH ONE x (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's sleep is deep, his body at rest, but starts stirring when Karen's phone dings with a text. She jumps, fearing the sound might disturb him. Carefully, she pulls her hand from his, her eyes never leaving his face. The plushie remains under his arm, his antennae twitching slightly with his dreams. Karen reads the text from Hanna, her friend. Her house is under construction and needs a place to stay! But Hanna and Plankton never met each other.. She thinks for a moment, weighing her options. Plankton's autism is still new, and she's not sure how he'll react to a stranger in their space. But Hanna's in need, and Karen can't ignore that. Gently, she leans over and kisses his antennae. "I'll be right back," she whispers to his sleeping form. She goes out front, texting Hanna to meet her in the front yard. Her mind races as she sees Hanna. "Hey, Karen! Sorry about the short notice." Hanna says. "It's ok, just follow me inside," Karen says, opening the front door and closing it behind them. And yet Karen's mind is racing. How will Plankton react? They enter the bed room, where Plankton still sleeps, oblivious to their guest. Karen takes a deep breath. "Hanna, this is Plankton. He's been through a lot today." Hanna nods, her eyes widening at the sight of the tiny creature. "Hi," she says softly. Plankton's antennae twitch, and his eye opens slowly. His gaze flits between Karen and Hanna, his body tense. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. "This is Hanna. She's a friend." Hanna nods, her smile kind. "Hi, Plankton," she says, her voice soft. "You're Karen's husband right? The one who inven-" But before she can finish, Plankton's body jerks upright, his antennae quivering. "NO!" he shouts, the word cutting through the quiet with panic. Karen's mind races, her eyes snapping to him. "It's okay," she repeats, her voice soothing. "This is Hanna. She's a friend." Plankton's gaze flicks between them, his antennae a blur of movement. "Friend?" he asks, his voice tight with fear. Karen nods. "Yes, a friend," she says firmly. "We're safe here." Hanna nods. "Hi there Plank..." But the sound of her voice sends Plankton into a spiral of anxiety. His eye widens, his body stiffens. Karen's knowing she's made a mistake. The sudden presence of a stranger has disrupted his carefully controlled environment. "Shh," she whispers, moving closer, her movements slow and deliberate. "It's ok. This is Hanna, she's here to stay for a bit." Plankton's antennae twitch frantically, his eye darting between Karen and the new presence in the room. "Hanna?" he echoes, his voice filled with uncertainty. Hanna nods, her smile gentle. "That's right," she says softly before noticing the plushie on the floor. "Ah, is that a plushie?" Plankton's antennae stop moving, his gaze locked on Hanna's hand as it reaches for the toy. "MINE," he says firmly. Hanna's hand freezes, her screen a silent question as she picked it up. Plankton's eye tracks the movement, his body tense. He doesn't like change, his autism demanding predictability and routine. Karen knows what to do. "It's okay," she says, her voice low and reassuring. "Hanna's just lo…" But Plankton's autism doesn't allow for this. He snatches the plushie from Hanna's hand, his body rigid. "MINE!" he shouts sharply. This was a mistake, introducing change so suddenly into his life. "I'm sorry," Hanna says, her hand dropping to her side. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's fear has turned to anger. "NO!" he shouts, his antennae flaring. "MINE!" Karen's eyes widen, his outburst echoing in the room. Her mind is racing to find the right words, the right way to comfort him. She knows his autism has made him hyper-aware of his possessions. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice a calm river. "Hanna didn't mean to take it. It's still yours." His antennae slowly retract, his body loosening. He looks at Karen, his eye searching for truth.

I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX

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NEW REALITY i (Autistic author) "You never listen to me, Karen," Plankton groused. "It's a new analyzer I just built! It'll reveal the contents of a patty when I put one in!" Karen, ever the skeptical wife, rolled her eyes. "You mean IF you put one in.." Plankton ignored her sarcasm, but with a deafening pop, the analyzer exploded, sending shards of metal flying in all directions. One of these sharp pieces slammed into Plankton's head, causing him to stumble back. Karen rushed to his side, pushing aside her initial irritation. Plankton's eye rolled back and closed as he crumpled to the floor. "Plankton! Plankton!" Karen's voice grew frantic as she cradled his tiny, limp body. The analyzer's explosion had caused more damage than she could have ever imagined, the injury had rewired his currently unconscious brain irreversibly: autism. Karen carries him to their bedroom, tucking him in his bed. "Plankton," she whispers, brushing his antennae, "Please wake up." But Plankton remains still. Karen sits by the bedside, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'll always be here," she murmurs, squeezing his hand. The quiet hum of their tiny underwater apartment is broken only by the rhythmic pulse of his breathing. Karen starts to think. If only she had taken his inventions more seriously, maybe this accident could have been avoided? She looks at the clock. It's midnight now. The hours tick by, each one lonelier than the last. Karen's thoughts are a tangled web of regrets and fears. What if Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't help but feel like a prisoner to her own guilt. She wonders what their life would be like now. Would Plankton be different? Would he still be the same eccentric genius, or would the injury change him completely? Will he remember her? The sun's first light filters through their bedroom window, casting a warm glow on Plankton's face. Karen's eyes snap open, having dozed off from exhaustion. She sees him stir, his eyelid fluttering. He groans, his eye opening slowly. Karen's heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," he stammers, confused as to how he ended up in their room. The initial relief is quickly replaced with a knot in her stomach. His speech is stilted, his movements jerky. He tries to sit up, but the effort seems to overwhelm him. Karen reaches out to help, but he flinches at her touch. She notices his eye scanning the room with an intensity she's never seen before, as if he's trying to make sense of everything around him. "Plankton, it's okay," she says soothingly, trying not to let her anxiety seep into her voice. He turns to her, his gaze unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats, this time with more urgency. "What... what happened?" Her heart squeezes tight. "You had an accident with the new analyzer," she explains gently, keeping her voice calm. "It... it exploded and hit you.." Plankton looks around, his eye darting from object to object. "It's okay," Karen says, desperately trying to hold back the tears. "You're just a bit dizzy." But Plankton doesn't seem to be listening. He's too busy inspecting his surroundings, his eye darting around the room in a way that makes Karen feel like she's missing something. "Plankton, do you understand me?" Karen asks, her voice trembling slightly. He nods, but there's a distant look in his eye that makes her stomach drop. The way he's acting, it's like he's seeing their bedroom for the first time, like every detail is both fascinating and overwhelming. Plankton tries to get out of bed, but his legs wobble like jelly. Karen jumps up to support him, her arms wrapping around his thin frame. "Let's go slow," she suggests, guiding him back to the pillows. He simply nods. "Do you remember me?" Karen asks, desperation tinging her voice. His eye focus on her for a moment, then drift away again. "Yes," he says, but it's more of a question than an affirmation. "Karen, wife," he adds, his voice flat and devoid of the usual warmth and sarcasm. The words hang in the air like a lead weight, heavy with implications. Karen swallows the lump in her throat. "You're okay," she insists, as Plankton nods, looking around their bedroom when his gaze lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up, focusing intently on it. "Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering the concept for the first time. "Spinning. Round and round." Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting different." She doesn't know how to explain what she's seeing, but she's scared of what it might mean. His eye doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is so... mechanical. "Different?" he echoes, his voice a monotone. "No, the same Plankton." But the way he says it, like he's trying to convince himself, sends a chill down Karen's spine. She tries to shake off the fear, telling herself he's just groggy from the hit. But deep down, she knows it's more than that.

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 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.

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."

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.

GREAT CHIP xiv (Autistic author) "I know it's hard, but I need you to understand that. Sometimes, I may not seem okay, but that's because it's all too much," Plankton explained, his voice a soft rumble. "But you know what?" His antennae twitched slightly, a glimmer of humor in his eye. "Sometimes, I make jokes about it." Chip's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd never heard his father joke about his condition before. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitched with a tiny smirk. "Well, when other people do it, it feels like they're laughing at me, not with me," he said, his voice a fragile thread of self-awareness. "But when I make jokes, it's like I'm the one in control of the narrative. It's my way of saying, 'I know I'm different, and that's okay.'" Chip nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So it's about self-acceptance?" he ventured. Plankton's antennae bobbed slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Only I can decide how I want to be seen, how my condition is talked about. And I'd rather have other people respect me by making sure I'm comfortable than by just simply disregarding it." Chip nodded, his eyes shining with newfound respect for his father's strength. "I'll try to understand, Dad," he promised, his voice earnest. "And I'll just... I'll just be more careful." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze meeting Chip's with a melding of sadness and gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the fan's hum. The silence in the room was no longer oppressive but filled with a newfound understanding, a gentle peace that seemed to soothe the jagged edges of their recent conflict. Plankton's antennae stopped twitching, his body relaxing into the embrace of the plush blanket. "I just want to rest," he whispered, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. "Could you... could you just stay here? Until I fall asleep?" Chip nodded, his heart swelling with love and regret. He sat there, his body tense with the need to do more, but he knew that sometimes, the most important thing was just to be present. He watched as Plankton's breathing grew steadier, the shadows on the ceiling dancing to the rhythm of the fan's soft hum. His father's antennae lay still against his forehead, no longer a testament to his agitation but a symbol of his peaceful slumber. The room was a sanctuary of silence, the only sound the soft whisper of the comforter as Plankton moved slightly under its weight. Chip felt a mix of emotions—fear, guilt, love—but above all, a renewed determination to be there for his father, to learn and grow with him. He sat, his eyes never leaving Plankton's serene face, as the minutes ticked by. The darkness outside the window grew thicker, the moon casting a gentle glow into the room, painting the walls with silver light. The quiet was a comfort now, a balm to their frazzled spirits. Karen's footsteps were a soft whisper on the floorboards as she padded in, her eyes assessing the situation with a practiced gaze. "How's he doing?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress in the silence. "Better," Chip murmured, his eyes still on his father. "He's asleep." Karen nodded, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. "Why don't you get some rest too?" she suggested, her hand on Chip's shoulder. Chip hesitated, his gaze flickering from Plankton to his mother. "But what if he wakes up?" he asked, his voice a tentative whisper. Karen's eyes softened, understanding the fear that gripped him. "I'll stay," she assured. "You need to rest, too." Chip nodded, his body sagging with exhaustion. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to Plankton's forehead, his antennae tickling him. "Love you, Dad," he murmured, his voice a whisper in the stillness. Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder. "I'll wake you if he needs you," she promised, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. With a nod, Chip reluctantly stood, his legs wobbly from the adrenaline rush. He turned to leave, his gaze lingering on Plankton's still form, before finally exiting the room. The hallway was a stark contrast to the warm cocoon of Plankton's bedroom, the cold air a slap to his cheeks. He took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the weight of his father's words. In his own room, Chip lay on his bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling. The quiet was deafening, his thoughts racing like a thousand fish in a net. He replayed the day's events, each moment a sharp sting in the ocean of his mind. The look on his father's face when he'd tried to hug him, the sound of the lamp shattering, the harshness of his own voice. Chip's thoughts swirled like a tornado of regret. He'd never understood the depth of Plankton's condition, the daily battles he faced. He'd always seen his father's quirks as just that—quirks. But now, the reality was stark and unyielding. Plankton's autism was more than just a part of him; it was his reality, his truth, and Chip had been careless with it. With a heavy sigh, Chip climbed into bed, his mind racing. He wished he could take back the moments that had caused pain, to rewind the clock and start again. But life didn't work that way. The house was eerily quiet, the normally bustling undersea abode now a testament to the gravity of the evening's events. Chip couldn't shake the image of his father, frozen and vulnerable, his antennae drooping like deflated party balloons. The next day dawned, a soft glow seeping into the room. Chip's eyes snapped open, his heart racing as he remembered the previous night. He threw off the covers and tiptoed to his father's room, his bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor. Karen was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. The soft light of morning painted the scene in gentle hues, a stark contrast to the shadows of the night before. "How's he doing?" Chip asked, his voice hoarse. "Better," Karen whispered, her smile a beacon in the early light. "He's still sleeping." The relief on Chip's face was palpable as he approached the bed. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, a sign of his dreams. Chip's heart skipped a beat at the sight, a silent promise to do better, to be more understanding. "He's been sleeping peacefully," Karen assured, her voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore. "I'll make us some breakfast." Her footsteps receded, leaving Chip alone with his sleeping father. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, and Chip felt a wave of guilt crash over him. He carefully sat on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over the blanket. He wanted to touch, to reassure, but his earlier misstep was still fresh in his mind. Instead, he simply watched, his eyes tracing the outline of Plankton's form beneath the fabric. The smell of pancakes began to waft up from the kitchen, a comforting scent that seemed to soothe the tension in the room. Chip took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet aroma. He knew today would be a new beginning, a chance to mend the fragile threads of their bond. As Karen's footsteps retreated, the silence grew heavier, pressing against the walls like the water outside their windows. Chip's heart beat a staccato rhythm. He reached out slowly, his hand hovering over Plankton's hand. For a moment, he didn't move, just breathed, feeling the weight of his father's slumber. Then, with a careful, almost reverent touch, he covered Plankton's hand with his own. The warmth of his father's skin was a comfort, a reminder that despite the turbulent waters they'd navigated the night before, they were still connected. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, and Chip held his breath, fearful that he'd woken him. But his father's eye remained closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The silence stretched, a testament to their newfound understanding. Chip felt a swell of emotion, a mix of love and regret. He didn't want to let go, but he knew he had to allow Plankton his space, his privacy. So he gently lifted his hand, placing it in his lap, the memory of their shared warmth lingering like a warm embrace. He took a deep breath, his chest tight with the weight of his resolve. He would be there for his father, no matter what. He would learn about his condition, listen to his needs, and support him without smothering him. It was a delicate balance, one that Chip knew he might not always get right, but he was determined to try.

CHIP AND FAIL xvii (Autistic author) Plankton quivered with the effort to contain his anger. "Chip, your dad's right," Karen said, her voice a soft current of calm amidst the storm. "You have to learn to respect his boundaries." Plankton's antennae twitched. He looked at Karen, his eye filled with a mix of gratitude and pain. "It's not just the touch," he whispered, his voice raw. "It's the types of touch, the expectations... It's like I'm drowning every day." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "And Chip," she said, turning to her son, "you need to learn to swim without pushing him under." Chip's eyes were wide with understanding. "What can I do?" Karen took a deep breath. "Just ask before you touch," she said. "And if he says no, respect it. Give him space." Chip's eyes searched his father's. "Dad," he whispered. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae twitched, a sign of his internal struggle. Karen's hand squeezed his. "Okay, Chip," she said, her voice a gentle guide. "Ask your questions." Chip took a deep breath. "What do you mean by 'ask before I touch'?" he ventured, his eyes on Plankton, his antennae still a blur of agitation. Plankton took a moment before replying. "It means," he began, his voice still sharp, "that I need space. My brain can't handle what yours can!" "But Mom," Chip's voice was still tentative, "How do we know what touch..." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye a storm of agitation. "Just ask!" he snapped. "It's not rocket science, Chip. Just. Ask." Chip took a deep breath, his cheeks still flushed with anger. "I'm asking what types of..." But Plankton's antennae were already back to their usual calm state. "I know you're curious," he said, his voice softer. "But I can't just list them. It's different every day. Sometimes, a simple pat on the back is too much. Other times, I crave a hug." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing with questions. "So, it IS a choice..." But Plankton's antennae drooped. "No, Chip," he said, his voice weary. "It's not a choice. It's survival." "Survival? Dad, a touch won't kill you.." But Plankton's antennae twitched again. "It's not just about living," he said, his voice sad. "It's about living without pain." Chip's eyes searched his father's, seeing the weariness and hurt. He took a step closer, his hand outstretched. "Can I?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton flinched, his antennae shooting up. "What are you doing?" he snapped, his voice tight with anxiety. "Just asking if it's okay," Chip said, his hand hovering in midair. "I don't want to..." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. "If you're going to ask, make it genuine," he said, his voice softening. "Don't just do it because you think it's the right thing to do." Chip nodded, his hand still hovering. "I want to learn," he said, his voice earnest. "What can I do to make it better?" Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, a hint of softening. "You can start by listening," he said, his voice a little less sharp. "What do you mean?" Chip asked, his hand slowly lowering. "I mean," Plankton began, his antennae calming slightly, "that I need you to understand that my boundaries are not up for negotiation." "But what if I want to hug you?" Chip's voice was hopeful, his arms outstretched and already reaching him. Plankton's antennae shot up again. "Chip, I said no!" he yelled, his voice sharp with pain. "How many times do I have to tell you?" Chip's eyes widened, his hands falling to his side. "But I just..." But Plankton's antennae were a blur of agitation again. "You don't get it!" he shouted. "It's not about what YOU want, it's about what I need!" Chip's eyes searched his father's, his mind racing. "But Dad, I just want to show you that I care," he said, his voice quivering. "Is there no way to do that without making you uncomfortable?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Chip," he began, his voice weary, "just because you don't see my struggle doesn't mean it's not there." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands clenched at his sides. "But how can I show you that I care?" "Sleep, for now," Karen says. "We're all tired. We can talk about this another time." Plankton's antennae dropped slightly, his body visibly deflating. Chip nodded, his eyes on the floor. "Okay," he murmured. "I'll just go to my room." Karen watched him go, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she had to be the one to mend the fracture between father and son. She turned to Plankton. "Bedtime," she said, her voice a gentle nudge. "We're all exhausted. It's late." The next morning, Chip awoke early. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. The house was eerily silent. He knew he had to make things right for his dad. Chip tiptoed to his parents's room, his heart racing. He pushed the door open. Karen was sitting on the edge of the bed. Plankton was curled up, his antennae twitching slightly. Chip swallowed his pride. "Mom, I'm sorry for what I said," he mumbled. "Can you help me talk to Dad?" Karen's eyes softened. "Your father's still sleeping," she said. "But I'll talk to him when he wakes up." Chip nodded. "I'll wait," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do whatever it takes." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the determination in them. "Alright," she said, her voice a soft caress. "But remember, it's not about fixing him. It's about understanding him." Chip nodded solemnly. "I know," he said. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's eyes filled with pride. "That's all we can ask for," she said. "But you have to be patient." Chip goes to his mom's bed, sitting down. "I'll wait," he says. "I'm not leaving until we talk." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'll stay with you," she says. "But remember, we have to give him space." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's sleeping form. He studies Plankton, his antennae twitching slightly in his sleep. He tries to imagine what it's like for his dad, to live in a world where a simple touch could be torture. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the gentle sway of his antennae. He notices how peaceful he looks when his mind isn't bombarded by the world's sensory assault, the way his mouth is slightly open. "Mom," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "What does Dad's autism mean for his sleep?" Karen sighs, her eyes still on Plankton. "It means that his brain is always on alert," she explains. "Sleep can be elusive for him. Sometimes, the smallest sound can keep him awake for hours." Chip nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "What happened yesterday when I... Dad was unresponsive?" Karen sighs. "Sensory overload," she says. "It's like your brain has too much to process, so it just shuts down." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "Was he like, awake?" he asks. "Sort of," Karen replies, her eyes never leaving Plankton's restless form. "It's like he's trapped in his own head." "Could he hear me?" Chip's voice was a mix of fear and hope. "Could he feel anything?" Karen looked at her son, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she was about to reveal a painful truth. "He heard you," she said gently. "But his brain couldn't process it all." Chip felt a lump in his throat. "Could he see?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. Karen nodded, her eyes still on Plankton. "He could see you," she said. "But it's like his brain was stuck in a loop, replaying the same scene over and over." Chip felt the weight of his father's pain, his own chest constricting. "How long do they usually last?" Karen's gaze remained on Plankton. "It varies," she said. "Sometimes just seconds, other times hours. It all depends on how overwhelmed he gets."

CHIP AND FAIL xii (Autistic author) Karen knew her husband's withdrawal was a defense mechanism, a way to cope with the sensory overload. But watching Chip's pain was like watching a school of fish caught in a net, thrashing against the confines of their misunderstanding. Chip pushed his chum around his plate, his appetite lost in the whirlpool of emotions. "Dad," he tried again, his voice a soft wave breaking on the shore of Plankton's silence. "I don't know what to do." Chip felt like a tiny fish adrift in the vast sea of his father's displeasure. "I just want to be there for you," he murmured, his words a desperate plea. But Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye unreadable. The silence was a dense fog, obscuring the usual warmth between them. Chip's heart felt like it was trapped in a fishnet of doubt and confusion. Karen watched the exchange with a heavy heart, her own plate of chum barely touched. She knew Plankton's silence was a form of self-protection, his way of reeling in the chaos that had engulfed him. But she couldn't help but feel the barb of it, stinging Chip with each unanswered question. "Dad," Chip whispered again, his voice now a soft ripple in the vast sea of their dinner. "I know you're upset, but I'm trying." He took another tentative bite, his screen never leaving Plankton's still form. "Can we talk about it? What part of today d..." But Plankton's antennae remained as stiff as coral, his eye unyielding. The silence was a thick kelp forest, entangling any attempt at communication. Chip didn't know what else to say, what else to do. Karen's screen searched the horizon of Plankton's face, looking for any sign of relenting. But he was an isolated island, unreachable. She knew the storm inside him was still raging, and she could feel the waves of pain crashing against the shore of her own. Chip's voice was a sad melody, his words a school of fish lost in a sea of misunderstanding. "Dad," he whispered again, his voice a soft ripple in the vast ocean of silence. "I know I said the wrong things, but I'm here. I'm listening." Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye a clouded pool. The dinner table was a coral reef of tension, their plates untouched. The only sound was the distant lapping of waves against the shore of their unspoken words. Chip's voice was a lone seagull calling out into the vast sea of silence. "Dad," he tried again, his voice a desperate cry. "I'm sorry for what I said." But the words fell into the abyss, unheard by the father who was deaf to his son's pain. Plankton's antennae remained still. The tension at the dinner table was thick, obscuring any chance of understanding. "Dad," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Chip's hope was fading. "I'm sorry," Chip murmured again. He didn't know what else to say, his words a futile attempt. His father's antennae twitched slightly. The room was thick with unspoken words. Karen's screen flitted between them, her gaze a beacon of understanding for Chip in the abyss of Plankton's silence. She knew her husband's pain, had seen the storms he weathered in solitude. But she also saw the desperation in Chip's screen, the yearning for connection. "Dad," Chip whispered. "I know I don't understand it all, but I want to learn." Plankton's antennae remained unmoved, the silence a crushing weight that threatened to drown them both. Chip's voice was tiny. He took another bite of chum, his mouth moving mechanically, his screen never leaving Plankton's still form. "Dad," he tried again, his voice a soft whisper. "What can I do?" Plankton's antennae twitched once. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding then letting it out in a slow sigh. Chip was trapped. He had never seen his father so closed off, his usual vibrant spirit dimmed. Karen's eyes were a lifeline, her gaze a gentle nudge towards patience. She knew Plankton's silence was not rejection but a cry for space, a retreat into his own mind. "It's okay," she mouthed. Chip nodded, his screen never leaving Plankton's still form. He could see the pain etched in the lines of his father's face, the way his antennae drooped. He took a deep breath. "Dad," he said, his voice a soft current. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae twitched, just once, but it was enough for Chip to hold onto. "I'll learn so I can be there to help during temper tantrums.." And there it is. His eye flinched, and suddenly, he was no longer in the quiet room with his son and wife. He was back in elementary school, the laughter of his classmates as they called his meltdowns "tantrums." The taste of the chum in his mouth turned sour. His school teachers had never understood, had never seen the silent storm that raged beneath his calm surface. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was a soft echo, reaching out to him. He blinked, coming back to the present, his gaze meeting hers. Her eyes were calm. Chip's voice was a gentle nudge. "Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's mind was tangled within his thoughts of his past. The word "tantrum" echoed in his head, a reminder of his vulnerability. Karen's eyes searched her husband's, understanding. She reached over, her hand soft on his arm. "Take a moment," she whispered. "We're here for you." Plankton felt the warmth of her touch, grounding him. His antennae twitched slightly, acknowledging her support.

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."

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.

CHIP AND FAIL xiv (Autistic author) Karen opened the door. Plankton's sobs filled the room. She approached him slowly, her movements careful not to startle him. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice gentle. He was curled up on the bed, his antennae shaking with each gasp. His single eye looked up at her. "I'm sorry," he choked out. Karen sat beside him, her hand on his back in a comforting motion. "You have nothing to apologize for," she murmured, her voice soothing. "It's Chip who needs to understand." Plankton's antennae stopped shaking, his eye focusing on her. "Why doesn't he get it?" he whispered. "Why can't he see..." "Chip loves you," she said. "But he's never had to deal with this before. He's trying to understand." Plankton's antennae quivered. He knew she was right, but the pain of his son's ignorance... The door creaked open, and Chip's face appeared, his eyes red and swollen. "Dad," he began. "Can we talk?" Plankton felt a wave of anger crash over him. How could he forgive his son for not understanding? For not seeing the struggle he faced every single day? "What do you want, Chip?" he snapped. Chip took a tentative step into the room, his screen on Karen. "I just...I didn't know," he mumbled. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae shot up. "How could you not know?" he snarled. "How could you be so ignorant?" Chip took a step back. "I didn't mean to make it worse," he said, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to be close to you Dad, and have you..." Plankton's antennae trembled with frustration. "You think I don't want that?" he spat. "You think I enjoy being like this?" Chip's eyes widened. "No, Dad," he said quickly. "I just want to help you show..." But Plankton was drowning in anger. "You think you can help?" he sneered. "You think your naive attempts at bonding can fix what's broken?" Chip felt the sting of his father's words. "Dad, I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's antennae remained still. "Get out," he said, his voice cold. "Just leave me alone." Chip's eyes filled with tears. He had never heard such hostility from his father. "Dad," he pleaded. "I'm trying..." "I WON'T HAVE YOU PITY ME! I've lived with this my whole life, and you think you can just waltz in and 'help'? WELL, YOU CAN'T!" Plankton hissed. Karen can tell he's getting overwhelmed. With a gentle but firm tone, Karen stepped between Chip and Plankton. "Both of you, stop," she said. "This isn't helping." Her eyes met Chip's and then Plankton's. "Chip, your father is not mad at you, he's just overwhelmed," Karen explained. "And Plankton, your son is just trying to understand."

CHIP AND FAIL xvi (Autistic author) "Both of you, sit down," Karen ordered, her voice firm but not unkind. They complied, their movements jerky with emotion. "Chip, your father's autism is not an excuse for this behavior, but it's also not something to mock," Karen began, looking at her son with serious eyes. "It's a part of him, and we need to respect it." Chip's anger subsided slightly. "But you saw what happened earlier," he said, his voice still shaking. "It's like he doesn't even want to be around me." But Plankton's not quite done. "Why do you think that is, Chip? Go on, smarty, enlighten..." Karen's patience had run out. "Plankton," she said, her voice stern. "That's enough." He glared at Chip, his antennae quivering with anger. Chip looked away from him. "And Plankton," Karen's voice was a gentle reprimand, "Your son's ignorance is not an excuse for anger. We all need to communicate better." Plankton's antennae drooped. "I know," he murmured, his anger easing slightly. "It's just..." Karen's voice was firm. "I know it's frustrating, but we need to work together." She turned to Chip. "And Chip, your father's feelings are valid. You can't ignore them." Chip looked at his father, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Karen's voice was calm as she interceded. "Plankton, can you tell Chip what happened today? Help him understand?" Plankton's antennae stopped shaking. He took a deep breath. "When you touch me without asking," he began, his voice still sharp, "my body can't always handle what yours can." Karen's eyes were a gentle reminder of the lesson she had tried to teach earlier. She nodded for him to continue. "When you poke me or touch me without asking," Plankton said, "it's overwhelming." "I just barely touched you for one second, Dad!" "To you, it's one second," Plankton replied, his antennae drooping. "To me, it's an eternity of discomfort." Karen stepped in. "Chip," she said, "You need to understand that for him, it's not just about physical contact. It's about respecting his boundaries."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS xii (Autistic Author) The tree above them provides a gentle canopy, casting dappled shadows on Plankton's sleeping form. The leaves rustle in the breeze, creating a natural lullaby that soothes not only him but Chip and Karen as well. The world outside the shade seems to melt away, leaving them in a quiet cocoon of peace. Karen watches her son with a mix of admiration and sadness. He's growing up so fast, she thinks, having to learn about things most kids his age don't have to. But Chip's strength is undeniable, and she knows that together, they'll navigate the storms that come with Plankton's condition. The park's cacophony slowly starts to fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic sound of Plankton's deep, even breathing. Chip sits next to him, the love rock still in his hand, his thumb tracing the smooth surface. The shadows from the tree above dance across their faces, creating a mesmerizing pattern of light and dark that seems to mirror the complexities of their lives. Karen pulls out a small blanket from their bag and covers Plankton gently, tucking it around his small body. She looks at Chip, her eyes filled with a mix of love and sadness. "Why don't you sit with him for a bit?" she suggests. "I'll grab the car." Chip nods solemnly, taking a seat beside his father. He places the love rock in Plankton's palm, curling his slender fingers around it. The park's sounds seem to fade away as he focuses on Plankton's peaceful face, the only indication of life the steady rise and fall of his chest. Chip's eyes drift over to the swings, now silent, the chains still swaying slightly from their earlier use. While Karen walks to get the car, Chip sits in quiet contemplation, feeling the weight of their conversation from the night before. He's learned so much about his dad, about the storms in his brain that make him different. But instead of fear, Chip feels a newfound respect and love, a bond stronger than any storm could break. Plankton's eye flutter open, the sleepy confusion fading as he sees Chip sitting beside him, the love rock still clutched in his hand. He looks around, the park coming back into focus. His antennae twitch slightly, searching for the source of comfort. "Hey, buddy," Plankton says, his voice groggy. "What happened?" Chip's eyes light up, his grip on the rock tightening. "You had a seizure," he explains, his voice steady. "But you're ok now. We're just waiting for Mom to bring the car." Plankton nods, his gaze drifting to the rock. He opens his palm, revealing the smooth, shimmering stone. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Chip looks up, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It's our love rock," he says simply, his voice filled with the weight of their new understanding. Plankton's antennae twitch, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I remember," he says, his voice a little stronger. "It's a good rock." The two sit in companionable silence, the rock a tangible symbol of their bond. The park's sounds slowly filter back in, the laughter of children, the squeak of the swings, the distant bark of a seagull. Life goes on around them, but in this moment, their world is small and focused. As Karen pulls up with the car, she sees them sitting under the tree, the love rock in Plankton's hand. She parks and walks over, her eyes filled with concern. "Ready to go home?" she asks gently. Plankton nods, his antennae rising slightly. "Yeah," he says, his voice still shaky. "Let's go." They carefully help him into the car, the love rock still nestled in his hand. The drive home is quiet, the weight of the day's events hanging heavy in the air. Chip watches his dad, his heart aching for the silent struggle he knows he's facing. As they pull into the driveway, Karen looks back in the rearview mirror. "Remember, Chip," she says, her eyes meeting her son's in the reflection, "today was a learning experience. We all need to be patient with each other." Chip nods solemnly, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. He sees the exhaustion etched into his father's features, the quiet strength that hides beneath the storm. "I know," he whispers, his voice filled with understanding beyond his years. The house is a welcome retreat from the overwhelming sensory assault of the park. Inside, everything is familiar and comforting, a bastion of predictability in a world that often seems too loud and too bright for Plankton. Karen helps Plankton into bed, tucking him in with the care of a lighthouse keeper guiding a ship to safety. Chip sits on the edge of the bed, holding the love rock out to Plankton. "Do you still want this?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton's hand reaches out, his eyes never leaving the rock. He takes it, his grip firm. "Yeah," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "It's comforting." Karen gives them both a soft smile before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind her. The room is filled with the hum of the fish tank, the calming blue light casting a soothing glow. Chip sits with his father, the love rock nestled in Plankton's hand, a silent sentinel of their bond. For a moment, they just breathe together. Then, Chip decides to speak. "Daddy," he says, his voice gentle and soothing, "I'm here for you. No matter what happens, ok?" Plankton's eye flicker with understanding, and he squeezes the rock in his hand. "Thank you, Chip," he murmurs, his voice filled with more emotion than Chip has ever heard from him. "I'm lucky to have you." The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, as Chip nods, his own eyes brimming with tears. He leans in to offer Plankton his hand to hold. Plankton takes it, his grip firm, his eye searching Chip's for reassurance. The love rock remains a silent witness to their conversation, a physical representation of the unspoken affection that flows between them. Slowly, Plankton's eye grow heavy, the lid drooping as sleep claims him once more. His hand relaxes around Chip's, the rock still cradled in his other palm. Chip watches his father's chest rise and fall with each deep, even breath, the storm of the day finally abating. Eventually, Plankton's eye opens, a glimmer of understanding piercing the tempest. His antennae still, his body going rigid with the effort of speaking. He draws in a deep breath, his eye locking onto Chip's and also Karen’s, the love rock a bridge between them. "Lo..." he manages to murmur, the word a tremor in the quiet room. Karen's eyes widen, her heart skipping a beat. "Lo..." he tries again, the syllable a whisper of hope. The room feels like it's expanding, the walls stretching with the weight of his effort. "Lo...ve," he finally says, the word a shaky but clear declaration. The air shimmers with the power of the spoken word, the love rock in Chip's hand feeling like it's vibrating with joy. Karen's eyes overflow with tears as she squeezes Plankton's hand, her voice choking with emotion. "Oh, honey," she says, her voice a gentle caress, "we know." Chip's own eyes sparkle with unshed tears, his voice trembling as he speaks. "We love you too, Daddy." "Lo...love," he manages to repeat, the word a treasure pulled from the depths of his mind. Chip feels a tear slide down his cheek, the love rock in his hand a warm emblem of victory. "You don't have to say it, Daddy," Chip says, his voice shaky but earnest. "We know." But Plankton's eye determined, the word 'love' a beacon he needs to reach. With a Herculean effort, he whispers, "Chip...Karen...love...you." The room is suffused with a warmth that feels like a sunrise, the shadows retreating to the corners. Karen stands with love for her family. She knows that this is just the beginning of their journey, that there will be more storms to weather. But with Chip by his side, she feels a glimmer of hope that Plankton's world will be a little less overwhelming.

CHIP AND FAIL xi (Autistic author) Karen made chum for dinner and they all sat at the table. "Thanks," Plankton says to Karen as she hands him his plate. She sits down with her own plate after serving Chip his. "Hi, Dad," Chip said tentatively, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the room. Plankton's antennae twitched, but his eye remained fixed on his plate. The silence was a wall between them, thick as seaweed and just as impenetrable. Chip's heart felt like it was sinking into his stomach, the weight of his father's silence heavier than any words could have been. Karen's screen darted between them, a silent plea for peace. She knew this was Plankton's way of dealing with his overwhelm, but it was torture for Chip, who craved understanding and connection. "So, how's your friends?" Karen asks Chip. Chip shrugs, his screen darting to Plankton, who remains silent, his antennae still. "They're okay," he says, his voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. Karen sighs internally, the tension at the dinner table a heavy fog that seemed to smother their usual banter. "Karen, can you pass the napkins?" Plankton says. "Sure," she says as she puts them in the middle. "Dad, how do you feel about the food?" Plankton's antennae twitched but his gaze remained on his plate, his mouth a tight line. The silence was a thick stew that no one knew how to digest. Chip's eyes were filled with hope, searching for any sign of his father's usual playfulness, but all he found was a wall of quiet. Chip's voice was a feeble ripple in the vast ocean of their silence. "Dad, can I get you a drink?" he offered. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he remained silent, his eye never leaving his plate. The air was thick with tension, like seawater saturated with the weight of their unspoken words. Chip churned with anxiety, each bite of chum a reminder of the gap that had suddenly widened between him and his father. "Please, Dad," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the clink of their forks. Plankton's antennas remained still, his eye focused on the food before him. Karen's heart was a tight knot in her chest, her eyes darting between her husband and son. The silence was a living creature, a Kraken of tension coiled around them, squeezing the joy from the room. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "So, Chip, tell us about your week," she said, her voice too bright, too forced. Chip took a tentative bite of his chum, his eyes on Plankton's unmoving antennae. "Well, I had a good time at the carnival," he began, his voice a sad echo of his usual excitement. "I won at the ring toss." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his silence a thick, unspoken wall. Chip felt like a deflated balloon, each of his words a futile attempt to pierce the silence. "And I met a new friend," Chip continued, his voice a feeble thread trying to weave through the stillness. "She's a dolphin. She was really cute." Plankton's antennae twitched again, just a little, but it was enough to keep Chip's hope afloat. Chip's voice grew stronger, his words a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of silence. "Her name's Daisy," he said, a tiny smile tugging. "We played in the bubbles." But Plankton's antennae remained still, his eye on his plate. It was as if Chip's words were bouncing off an invisible shield, unable to penetrate the fortress of his father's mind. Chip's smile faltered, his screen filling with unshed tears. He wanted so badly to share his joy with Plankton, but the wall of silence was too high, too thick. He took a deep breath, his hands clenching around his fork. "Dad, I know you're mad at me," he said, his voice trembling. "But I just want to understand." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. The silence grew heavier with each passing moment, weighing down on Chip like an oversized sponge soaked in regret. He knew he had to try again, to bridge the gap. "Dad," he began, his voice shaky but determined. "I know I messed up today, but I want to make it right." He took a deep breath, willing the words to come. "Can you tell me more about your...about what happened to you?" His voice was a tiny bubble of hope rising in the deep sea of their dinner. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flickering up to meet Chip's for a brief moment before dropping back to his plate. The silence stretched on like a tight rubber band, threatening to snap. Karen's screen a tempest of concern, torn between her love for her husband and her desire to help her son. She knew Plankton needed his space, but seeing the pain in Chip's screen was like watching a piece of coral being slowly eroded by the sea. Chip's words hung in the air, like a message in a bottle lost at sea. Plankton's silence was a reef that Chip's words couldn't navigate around. He took a deep breath, his heart a conch shell echoing with hope. "Dad, I know it's hard for you," he tried again, his voice a gentle wave. "But if you don't tell me, how can I understand?" The room was a pressure cooker of unspoken emotion, the tension rising with each passing second. Karen's screen pleaded with Plankton, willing him to respond. But he remained still, his antennae unmoving, his eye a storm cloud over their meal. Chip's heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice, his words falling on deaf antennae. "Dad, please," he whispered, his voice desperate. "I just want to help." But Plankton's antennae remained motionless, his eye averted. The silence was a deep-sea trench between them, vast and unbridgeable. Chip's shoulders slumped, his hope leaking away like water through a sieve. He took another bite of his chum, the taste of it suddenly bitter on his tongue. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second a tiny hammer on the anvil of his heart. Chip forced a swallow, his throat tight with emotion. "Dad," he said again, his voice a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of quiet. "I'm sorry." The room held its breath, waiting for a response, but none came. The silence was a thick kelp that choked, suffocating any attempt at conversation.

CATCH IN MY CHIP xi (Autistic author) Karen leans in closer to Plankton, her voice a gentle whisper. "It's okay," she says, her eyes filled with warmth. "You're okay." Plankton's breaths are shallow, his chest rising and falling with effort as he shakes. The room is a cocoon of quiet, the outside world muted by the thick walls of their sanctuary. Karen's hand is a constant, her touch a reminder that he's not alone. Plankton's gaze flits to Chip, the question in his eye unspoken. "Chip," Karen says, her voice a balm to Plankton's raw nerves. "Your dad is in need of some quiet time, okay?" Her words are a gentle nudge, guiding them through the delicate dance of recovery. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I understand," he murmurs, though his heart feels like it's been tied in knots. He swallows his questions, his fear for his dad a lump in his throat. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his breathing easing a fraction. He nods, the gesture almost imperceptible. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice raspy with exhaustion. The relief in his eye is palpable. Chip watches, his own emotions a tapestry of confusion and concern. He wants to reach out, to hold his dad close, but he knows it's not the time. Instead, he squeezes Karen's hand, his silent promise to be patient and understanding. Plankton's eye closes, his body slowly relaxing into the pillow. The ringing in his ears fades, the world coming back into focus like a camera lens slowly adjusting to the light. The warmth of Karen's hand on his forehead is a comfort, his anchor in the sea of sensation. Her voice is a gentle lullaby, guiding him back to shore. "You're okay," she repeats, each word a wave lapping against the shore of his mind. The room stops spinning, the colors coalescing into distinct shapes. Plankton's gaze darts around the room, seeking solace. His eye lands on a spot on the wall, a patch of unblemished white. He focuses on it, his breaths coming slower, deeper. It's a sanctuary, a place of peace amidst the chaos. The spot becomes his beacon, the world around it a blurry periphery. Karen's hand on his forehead is cool, a balm to his racing thoughts. "Look at the spot," she whispers, her voice a soothing melody. "Just the spot." He nods, his eye locking onto the white, his breaths syncing with hers. The spot is a lifeline in the storm, a beacon of calm in his sensory chaos. Plankton stares at it, willing the world to recede. The colors around it blur, the sounds of the room dull to a whisper. It's just him and the spot, a silent pact between them to conquer the tempest. Karen's voice is a gentle wave, lapping at the edges of his mind. "When you're ready, take a deep breath. In, out. Slowly." She guides him through the exercise, her tone soothing. Plankton tries to focus, his body responding to the familiar rhythm. The spot on the wall becomes clearer, the edges sharper. The world around it softens, the colors bleeding back into the fabric of the room. His breathing slows, his chest rising and falling in time with Karen's gentle prompts. The spot is his sanctuary, a bastion of calm in the overwhelming storm. But then, it starts. The tic, a twitch of his antenna. A reminder that his mind is not entirely his own, his body a marionette to the whims of his neurodiversity. Plankton's antennas begin to still, his body gradually relinquishing the tension that had held it hostage. The tic in his left antenna, a quick spasm that had become more frequent. Karen's eyes don't leave his face, her gaze a silent support. She knows the dance of his tics all too well, a choreography that they've lived with for years. She squeezes his hand, her touch a silent promise to stand by him through the storm. It's his body's way of releasing the tension that builds up like pressure in a volcano. The tic is a tide, rising and falling, unpredictable and uncontrollable. Plankton's head jerks to the side, the sudden movement a stark contrast to the stillness of the room. Chip's eyes go wide with concern. "It's okay," Karen murmurs, squeezing Plankton's hand. "It's just your body. It's okay." Her voice is a lullaby, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. The tic subsides, his antennas returning to their usual state. Chip's eyes dart from his dad to his mom, his mind whirring with questions. "What was that?" he asks, his voice quiet, afraid to disturb the fragile peace. Karen's hand moves to Plankton's antenna, her thumb tracing the line of his twitch. "It's just his body's way of dealing with the overstimulation," she explains, her voice calm but tinged with sadness. "It's a tic, Chip. It's part of his autism." Chip nods, his eyes wide with understanding. "Will he be okay?" he asks, his voice small in the face of his father's struggle. Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens, her voice a steady stream of comfort. "Yes, he will," she says with confidence. "This happens sometimes. We just need to be patient and give him time." Plankton's antennas still slightly, the tremor a reminder of the storm that had passed through his mind. His breaths come more evenly now, the spot on the wall his silent companion as he finds his way back to the world. Chip's eyes are full of questions, his heart heavy with concern. He watches as his dad's body relaxes, the tension easing like a retreating tide. "I'll get him some water," Karen says, her voice a whisper. She squeezes Plankton's hand once more before rising, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet. Plankton's eye meets Chip's, his gaze apologetic. Chip swallows his fear. "Daddy?" he whispers, his voice cracking. Plankton's eye flutters open, the panic gone, replaced by a fatigue that seems to weigh down his very soul. "I'm okay," he manages, his voice a rasp. "Just tired." Chip nods, his hand tentatively reaching out to touch his dad's arm. The contact is tentative, a question and a comfort all in one. Plankton's antennas twitch again, but this time it's with the beginnings of a smile. "Thanks, buddy," he says, his voice hoarse. The room is a cocoon of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Plankton swallows hard, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on his chest like a leaden blanket. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his gaze never leaving Chip's. Chip's eyes are pools of concern, the question in his eyes unspoken but potent. "For what?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennas droop slightly, his eye reflecting the shame he feels. "For scaring you," he says, his voice hoarse. "For not being able to control it." Chip's hand tightens around his dad's arm, his eyes brimming with tears he's too proud to shed. "It's okay, Daddy," he says, the words a soft whisper. "You don't have to be sorry." Plankton's smile is weak, his antennas still. "I know," he replies, his voice a whisper. "But it's hard not to be." He swallows, his throat dry from the battle his body has just endured. Karen returns with a glass of water, her steps silent on the soft carpet. She hands it to Plankton, who gratefully takes a sip, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. The tension in the room is a palpable entity, a third person in their silent conversation. "What happened?" Chip asks, his voice small, the question a balloon of curiosity floating in the heavy air. "It's just part of who I am," Plankton says, his voice still hoarse from his episode. He takes another sip of water, the coldness of it a stark contrast to his fevered skin. "My autism, it makes my brain work differently." Chip's hand is still on his arm, a silent offer of comfort. "But you're okay now," he says, his voice hopeful. Plankton nods, the motion almost imperceptible. "Thanks to Mom," he murmurs, his eye swiveling to Karen, who smiles at him with a mix of relief and love. "She's the reason I made it through." Chip looks at Karen with a newfound respect, his young mind trying to comprehend the gravity of what he's just witnessed. "You're both strong," he says, his voice steady, the fear momentarily pushed aside by admiration. Karen's smile is a soft glow, the pride in her eyes unmistakable. "We all have our moments," she says, her hand resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's how we face them that makes us who we are." She glances at the clock, the ticking a reminder of the time they've lost to the sensory storm. "Why don't you go play for a bit, Chip? Your dad needs some rest, and I think we could all use a moment to process." Chip nods, his eyes still filled with unspoken questions. But he trusts his mom, and he can see the exhaustion etched into Plankton's face. He slides off the bed, his feet silent on the floor. With one last look at his dad, he heads for the door, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. Karen watches him go, her heart aching for the fear he must be feeling. But she knows that with time and patience, he'll understand. He'll grow to see his dad not as a mystery to be solved, but as a person to be loved and supported, just like anyone else.

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.

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.

We only have one shot at life, make it count. Here are some bible verses about loving your enemies. Follow the word of god :) * Matthew 5:44: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you"
 || * Luke 6:27-28: "But I say to you: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you || Please stop this drama, it is not of god. Drink water, eat food, prioritize your mental health, and have a great day everyone ✝️🙏🏻❤️

CHIP AND FAIL xv (Autistic author) "But Dad," Chip began, his voice trembling, when Plankton interrupts. "BUT DAD," Plankton mimics, his voice high-pitched and mocking. "You think you know how I feel, but you have no idea!" Karen stepped back. She knew Plankton needed to express his anger, and Chip needed to learn from it. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make it about..." But Plankton's antennae were a flurry of agitation. "You think your stupid need to touch me can just make everything okay? WELL GUESS WHAT, CHIP? IT CAN'T!" He was shouting now, his voice echoing through the room. Chip's eyes filled with hurt. "Dad, I just wanted to tell you about my week," he said, his voice quivering. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's just starting. "You think your convenience more important than my comfort?" he snapped. "Dad," Chip says. "I just wanted to be close..." But Plankton's anger was a raging storm. "YOUR VERSION OF CLOSE IS Suffocation!" he yells, his antennae shaking violently. "You're nothing but a child. All you know is your own need for attention, yet you expect me to be fine with your constant poking and prodding?" Chip's cheeks burned with shame. "That's not fair," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm trying to understand..." But Plankton's antennae were a blur of anger. "Understand? You can't even begin to understand what it's like!" he spat. "You live your life in a bubble, Chip. You've always had everything you've ever wanted, and now you want to 'understand' me? And don't come crying about fairness..." "PLEASE Dad..." But Plankton's anger was unstoppable. "You think you're so clever," he sneered with rage. "With your fancy friends and your easy life. You wouldn't know what it's like to have to fight for every little thing." Chip felt the sting. "Dad," he choked out, "That's not..." But Plankton's words were a tidal wave, crashing down. "You're selfish," he accused. "Always thinking of yourself." Now Chip's getting upset. "I'm selfish? At least I'm not the one who's too busy being a drama queen to see how much I care!" he retorts, his voice a mix of pain and anger. Plankton's antennae shot up. "You dare call me that?" he roared. "You have no idea what it's like to drown in sensory overload, to have your brain betray you every single day!" Chip took a step back, his cheeks red with anger. "You think because I don't understand, I don't care?" he yelled back. "You're the one who's never there for me because of your 'condition'! You're just a shallow, spoiled little..." "ENOUGH! Both of you, stop it right now!" Karen says. Her voice cuts through the argument like a knife, silencing the room. She could feel the anger, the frustration, the hurt in each of their voices.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS xi (Autistic Author) The wind whispers through the leaves of the nearby trees, carrying with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and the distant sound of seagulls. It's a simple pleasure, but one that Plankton has often missed in his quest to protect his son from the storms in his own mind. Suddenly, the serenity is shattered as a ball comes hurtling through the air, narrowly missing Plankton's head. He flinches, his antennae shooting straight up in alarm. Chip's swing comes to an abrupt halt, his eyes wide with fear. The children playing nearby laugh, unaware of the chaos their game has brought to the quiet corner of the playground. Plankton's eye darts around, trying to process the sudden assault of sound and movement. His breath comes in quick, shallow gasps, and Karen can see the beginnings of a panic attack forming on his face. "Daddy!" Chip shouts, jumping off his swing and racing to his side. With surprising speed and grace, Chip leaps into action, catching Plankton just as he starts to topple off the swing. "Daddy!" Chip says, his voice filled with urgency as he gently guides Plankton's unresponsive body to the soft grass below. The love rock still clutches in his small hand. Karen rushes over, her eyes wide with concern. "Is he ok?" she asks, kneeling beside them. Chip nods, his chest heaving. "He has an absence seizure thing," he says, his voice shaking slightly. He looks up at Karen, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. "What do we do?" Karen's eyes fill with a mix of panic and love as she takes in the sight of Plankton, his body frozen in mid-swing, his antennae limp. She's been here before, but it never gets easier. "It's ok," she says, her voice calm despite her racing heart. "Just give him a moment. He'll come back to us." Chip nods, his grip on the love rock tightening as he watches his father. The world seems to slow down around them, the laughter of the other children fading into a distant memory. Plankton's breathing is shallow, his body stiff. Karen reaches out, placing a gentle hand on his back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. The seconds tick by like hours, each one filled with the weight of uncertainty. Chip clutches the love rock, willing his dad to come back. He's seen this before, but it never gets easier. He remembers the first time it happened, the fear that had gripped him, the feeling of helplessness as his dad's eye glazed over. But now, he knows what to do. He's not as scared; he's prepared. With trembling hands, Chip takes out the love rock, its smoothness a comforting reminder of their conversation. He places it gently in Plankton's palm, curling the slender fingers around it. "You're ok," he whispers, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. "We’re here." Plankton's body remains still, a stark contrast to the vibrant world around them. The squeaks of the swings, the laughter of the children, the distant crash of waves, all seem to fade into the background as they wait for him to return from his brief retreat. Karen sits beside Chip, her hand on his shoulder, offering silent support. Time seems to stand still as they wait, the rock in Plankton's hand a silent testament to their newfound bond. The park's vibrant sounds muffle into a distant symphony, the world holding its breath for Plankton's return. Above them, the sun casts a warm, gentle light, the shadows dancing as if in a silent ballet of concern. The seconds stretch into eternity, each one a heartbeat of hope. Chip's eyes never leave his father, willing him back with all his might. The rock in Plankton's palm is a symbol of love and understanding, a bridge connecting them through the stormy seas of his mind. As Plankton's body remains frozen, the world around them seems to hold its breath. The rustling of the leaves above, the distant laughter of children, even the crash of waves in the background seem to hush in respectful silence. It's as if the universe itself is offering a quiet sanctuary for Plankton's return. Chip's eyes never leave his father's face, his grip on the love rock in Plankton's palm unwavering. His heart races with fear, but he squeezes the rock tighter, trying to channel the love and support he feels into his dad's unresponsive hand. Chip decides to whisper comforting words. "Daddy, it's ok," he says softly. "You're safe here with me and Mom." Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and admiration for her son's courage. She watches as Chip decides to continue. "Remember the rock, Daddy?" Chip whispers. "It's my way of saying I love you." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a glimmer of recognition in his eye. The world around them seems to hold its breath, the very air thick with anticipation. Chip's voice is the only sound, a gentle lullaby in the cacophony of the playground. The rock in Plankton's hand feels warm, almost alive, as if it's absorbing the love Chip is whispering into it. Chip watches as Plankton's antennae slowly start to wiggle, a sign that he's coming back to them. "I'm here," Chip says, his voice barely audible. "I'll always be here." Karen's hand moves to cover Chip's, her eyes glistening with tears she's trying hard to hold back. The sight of her son's unwavering support is both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring. Plankton's chest rises and falls more steadily, his breathing evening out. The rock in Plankton's hand seems to pulse with a gentle warmth, a silent acknowledgment of Chip's words. Karen sees the tension in Plankton's features begin to ease, his antennae drooping slightly as he starts to come back to them. It's a delicate process, like waking a sleeping dragon. Any sudden movement could send him back into the storm. Chip's voice is a beacon, guiding Plankton through the fog. "It's ok," Chip repeats, his voice soothing, "You're with us." Plankton's antennae twitch again, and Karen can see the spark of understanding in his eye. Slowly, Plankton's body starts to relax. The tension in his shoulders eases, and his antennae twitch in a way that tells Karen he's listening, that he's with them again. His breathing evens out, and his eyelid flickers closed. For a moment, Chip is afraid. But then, Plankton's hand tightens slightly around the rock, giving him a squeeze that says 'Thank you'. Karen smiles, her eyes shimmering with relief. "Looks like he’s asleep," she whispers, her voice filled with a mix of humor and love. Chip nods, his own eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. They stay like that for a while, the three of them, in the quiet sanctuary of the park bench. The storm in Plankton's mind has passed, leaving them in a gentle lull. The playground's sounds slowly start to filter back in, the chatter of children, the distant hum of the city, the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Chip keeps whispering, his voice a gentle caress in the stillness. "It's ok, Daddy. You're safe." Karen watches her son with a mix of love and sadness, knowing the weight he now carries. He's growing up too fast, she thinks, but he's handling it with more grace than anyone could ask for. Plankton's hand relaxes around the rock, his breathing deep and even. The storm inside him has passed for now, leaving them with a quiet, precious moment. Chip leans into her, his voice a whisper. "Is he going to be ok?" Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. "He'll be fine," she says. "Rest is sometimes the best thing for him after an episode." Chip nods, his grip on the rock in Plankton's hand loosening slightly. He looks around the park, the world coming back into focus. The other kids are playing, their laughter a gentle reminder of the life that goes on outside their little bubble of concern. "Should we go home?" Chip asks, his voice still hushed. Karen nods. "Let's get him into the shade," she says, gesturing to a nearby tree. "The fresh air and quiet will do him good." Together, they gently lift Plankton and carry him to the cool, shaded spot. Chip is careful not to jostle him too much, his little hands supporting Plankton's head. Under the tree, Karen lays a blanket on the ground and they place him down. His antennae are still now, no longer dancing with the stress of the seizure. His breath is deep and even, his features relaxed in sleep. Chip watches him intently, his thumb tracing the smooth surface of the love rock. "He's going to be ok, right?" he asks, his voice a barely audible whisper. Karen nods, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "Of course, sweetie," she says. "Daddy just needs some rest."

⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢁⠈⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⡀⠭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⠄⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⡆⠄⠄⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣇⣼⣿⣿⠿⠶⠙⣿⡟⠡⣴⣿⣽⣿⣧⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣟⣭⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⣴⣶⣿⣿⢄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣩⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⡋⠘⠷⣦⣀⣠⡶⠁⠈⠁⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠃⣴⣶⡔⠒⠄⣠⢀⠄⠄⠄⡨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡘⠿⣷⣿⠿⠟⠃⠄⠄⣠⡇⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⢁⣷⣠⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣠⣾⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠉⠙⠻ ⠟⠋⠁⠄⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⡯⢓⣴⣾⣿⣿⡟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⡟⣷⠄⠹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄

⠀݂⠀🦪⠀֯⠀ ᮫⠀ ⛤⠀ׄ⠀ 𓍢ִ⠀܄⠀ʬ ⭑ ˙ 𓍯⠀ׄ⠀🦋﹔ 𝓭ₒₙ'ₜ 𝓬ₒₚᵧ 𝔀ₒᵣₖ ᵳᵣₒₘ ₐₙₒₜₕₑᵣ, ₜₕₑ ₛₐₜᵢₛᵳₐ𝓬ₜᵢₒₙ ₒᵳ ₛᵤ𝓬𝓬ₑₛₛ ᵢₛ ₒₙₗᵧ ᵳₑₗₜ 𝔀ₕₑₙ ᵧₒᵤ 𝓭ₒ ᵧₒᵤᵣ ₒ𝔀ₙ 𝓭ᵤₜᵧ.

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.

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑜𝑖𝑠16🕒

🎟️

PLUSH ONE i (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's watching her husband, Plankton, who had been working tirelessly for hours, the metal container his new project. He wrestled with a stubborn bolt, his face a picture of concentration. Suddenly, Plankton's grip loosens as the bolt flies off the rusted metal, smacking him in the head. He topples back, his head hitting the cold concrete floor with a thud as the metal shelf collapses on his head. Karen gasps. Plankton lies still, unconscious. Her eyes widen with fear as she rushes over. She checks his pulse, finding a steady beat. Relief washes over her. He's alive, but she can see the bruising as she clears the metal away from him. "Plankton, honey," she whispers, shaking him gently. "Can you hear me?" No response, his eye closed tightly. Panic starts to creep in, but Karen forces herself to remain calm. "Come on, wake up," she says, a little louder this time. The room feels like it's spinning, but she takes a deep breath and dials for medics. The phone seems to ring forever, each second stretching into eternity. The dispatcher's voice is a distant echo in her panic-filled hearing, but she manages to spit out their address, the gravity of the situation, and Plankton's name. While waiting for the medics, Karen can't help but worry about his well-being. She knows how much he puts into his projects, how much he loves tinkering and inventing. Two paramedics rush inside, their footsteps heavy. They quickly assess Plankton's condition, their faces masks of professional concern as they set up some medical equipment around. "Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?" one asks while checking his vitals. Her voice shaky, Karen recounts the accident, never leaving Plankton's still form. They nod, working swiftly and efficiently. Karen winces but remains composed as they clean the wound and apply pressure. The other paramedic starts an IV, explaining that Plankton might have a concussion and that they need to monitor his condition closely. Karen nods, trying to process the situation as she watches them work. "We'll stay as he wakes up and only leave once the damage has been assessed." Karen's eyes well up with tears, but she fights them back, gripping his hand tightly. The wait for Plankton to stir feels interminable. The tick of the clock echoes through the room, each second a reminder of his potentially serious condition. The silence is pierced only by the occasional beep of the medical devices and the rustle of the paramedics' movements. They decide to perform a more thorough examination, including a quick brain scan to rule out any serious damage. One of them holds a scanner device over his head, watching the readouts with a furrowed brow. The results come in, and the paramedics share a concerned look. "Ma'am, it seems your husband has sustained a head injury that's led to a... unique complication," one of them says, his voice measured. "It's a form of autism, from the impact. It's not unheard of, but it's definitely not common." Karen's eyes widen. Autism? Her mind races as she tries to grasp what this means for Plankton. "What do I do?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. The paramedics explain that this type of autism is known as Acquired Autism, a rarity. "It's like his brain rewired itself to compensate," one of them says. Karen nods, trying to understand. Her mind is a whirlwind of questions, each more overwhelming than the last. How will this change Plankton? Their life together? The paramedics outline some of the potential symptoms he might exhibit: social withdrawal, sensory overload, difficulty with change, and the possibility of developing intense interests or routines. They tell her that every case is unique, and they can't predict exactly how Plankton will be affected. They also mention that there can be positive changes, like heightened focus or skills in specific areas, often referred to as savantism. But they stress the importance of keeping him comfort. Karen nods, her mind racing as she tries to imagine their future. The quiet whir of the medical devices in the background seems to mirror the chaos in her thoughts. The paramedics continue, explaining that Plankton may now see the world differently, senses heightened or dulled, social interactions potentially altered. He might find comfort in routine, the predictability of the mundane offering a solace that the unexpected could not. She wonders how this will affect their dynamic, their shared jokes and laughter. They tell her that autism, congenital or acquired, is irreversible. It's a part of him now, a new chapter in the story of their lives. It's not a disease to be cured, but a condition to be understood. Finally, a low groan escapes. "Honey, can you open your eye?" Karen asks, her voice a mix of relief and anxiety. Slowly, Plankton's lid flutters open, revealing a dazed expression. "What... happened?" he slurs, his eye struggling to focus. The paramedics exchange a hopeful glance; he's coming around. They decide to ask Plankton simple questions to assess his cognition. "Plankton, can you tell me your name?" one of the paramedics asks, a gentle smile playing on their lips. "Name, Sheldon Jay Plankton." His voice is slow, but clear. A flicker of relief lights up Karen's screen. He seems to be responding coherently. The next question comes, "What's your wife's name?" "Karen." It's a victory, a sign that he's still in there. But the joy is short-lived as Plankton begins to stim. He starts rocking back and forth. The paramedics' calmly explain, "It's a form of self-soothing. It's common with autism. Let's see if we can get him to focus. What's your favorite color?" He stops rocking for a moment, his gaze locking onto a blue tool on the floor. "Blue," he says. "Good, good," the paramedic nods, noticing the sudden change in his demeanor. "What do you like to do for fun?" The paramedic asks while the other paramedic removes the IV. But Plankton, feeling them remove his IV, yelps. His hands begin to flap rapidly as he looks around the room, his eye wide with fear. "It's okay," Karen whispers, stroking his hand, trying to soothe him. The paramedics' eyes meet hers, their expressions sympathetic. "It's okay, Plankton. You're safe." They try another question, one that's more familiar to him. "Do you remember your latest invention?" But Plankton's still feeling the sting of the IV removal, his eye darting around the room, not quite focusing on anyone or anything. "Look, Plankton, a button," Karen says softly, pointing as she tries to refocus him. He turns his head slightly, his eye locking onto her hand. "Button," he repeats, his voice a whisper as he rubs his arm. The paramedics nod, giving Karen an encouraging look. She continues, "Plankton, sweetie, can you tell me what the button does?" For a moment, he's still. Then, he answers. "What the button does Plankton." It's a start, a glimmer of the Plankton she knows. Karen's eyes fill with hope as she presses on. "Yes, honey, what happens when you push the button?" He blinks, his gaze shifting from her hand to the floor, and then back up to her. "The button... tell... what the button does Plankton," he mumbles. Encouraged by the response, she leans in closer, her voice even softer. "The button, honey, what happens when you push it?" Plankton's eye refocus, his mind racing to piece together the fragmented information. His voice quivers with effort as he says, "Button... blue... go." The words are disjointed, but there's a spark in his eye. Karen's hope grows as she realizes he's trying to communicate. "Is that your invention, Plankton?" she asks, her voice trembling. He nods slightly, his hand reaching for the metal shelf that had fallen. She gently guides his hand back to the button. The paramedics watch the interaction closely, noting his responses. They're looking for signs of coherence, anything that might indicate the extent of his cognitive ability. "Can you tell me the purpose of your invention, Plankton?" His gaze flits from the button to Karen's screen and back again. "Button... blue... go," he repeats. "Can you tell me the purpose of your invention Plankton." He parrots. Karen's eyes widen. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says, her voice shaky. "Just tell me what the button is for." Plankton whispers, "Button... blue... go," his gaze intense. "Tell Karen what the button is for.." Karen's eyes never leave him, her heart pounding in her chest as she sees the effort he's making. "The button," she prompts softly, "what does it do?" Plankton's breath hitches, his fingers tapping a rhythm. "Button... blue... go," he murmurs, the words falling out of order, as if his brain is trying to solve a puzzle. Karen nods encouragingly, her screen brimming with unshed tears. She knows she needs to be patient, to guide him through this new reality. "Honey, the button... what happens when it goes blue?" Plankton's hand twitches, then stills. He stares at the button, thoughts visibly racing. "Go... blue... button." The words come out slowly, as if he's assembling them carefully in his mind. "It goes blue." The paramedics nod, scribbling notes on their clipboards. One says, "That's good. Keep prompting him. It's important to see how his cognition functions." She tries to think of more questions to unlock the Plankton she knew before. "What's your favorite food?" she asks. He pauses, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room, then snaps back to her, his eye brightening slightly. "Krabby Patty," he says, his voice clearer now. "We sell chum..." Karen's gaze swells with hope, his words a familiar echo of their shared past. The Krabby Patty was his lifelong obsession, a symbol of his restaurant rivalry with Mr. Krabs. It's a sign, however small, that he's still in there. "Yes, Plankton," she smiles, her voice thick with emotion.

PLUSH ONE ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What's your favorite thing to do?" Karen continues, her voice gentle. He looks around the room, his gaze finally settling on the metal container, his project before the accident. "Fix," he says, his hands moving in small, repetitive gestures. "Invent. Invent," he murmurs. It's a start. The paramedics nod, jotting down their observations. "It seems like his long-term memory is intact," the first one murmurs to the other. "Okay, Plankton, we're all done here; we'll be heading on out." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening as she watches them leave, their boots echoing down the hall. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the room feels much emptier, the silence suffocating. She looks back at her husband. She's never dealt with someone with severe autism, let alone the man she loves. She takes a deep breath. "Come on," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "Let's sit up." With surprising ease, he allows her to help him into a sitting position. He looks at her, his gaze warm and affectionate. "Karen," he says, his voice gentle. It's the first time he's called her by name since the accident, and it fills her with a hope so profound it hurts. They sit there for a while, Karen stroking his arm, Plankton's eye closed as he leans into her touch. He seems to find comfort in her presence, and she in his. She whispers softly, "I love you, Plankton." He opens his eye, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Love... Karen," he echoes. "You, I... I lo-ove you Karen." It's not eloquent, but it's enough. It's more than enough. Karen feels tears sting her screen as she leans in and kisses his forehead. "I love you too, Plankton." His hand, stiff and unpracticed, moves to hers, tracing the outline of her palm. The simple gesture speaks volumes, a silent promise that they'll navigate this new world together. Karen's eyes well up, a smile forcing its way through the tears. "You're going to be okay," she whispers, trying to tell herself as much as him. Plankton nods, his gaze on their joined hands. He starts to fiddle with her fingers, his touch tentative but earnest. It's a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He's trying, and she loves him for it. The world outside feels muted as they sit together, sharing this quiet moment of understanding. Their bond, though altered by his new condition, remains strong. Karen can see it in the way he looks at her, his eye searching hers for comfort. And she's there, offering it in spades. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice steady "We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his hand still tracing the lines of her palm. His movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. It's clear that touch is a way to connect, in a world that's suddenly become more confusing. Karen runs her thumb over the back of his hand. He looks up at her, his gaze intense, his eye searching hers for reassurance. Karen smiles through the tears. "We're in this together," she whispers, leaning in to pat his shoulder. But the second her hand makes contact, he flinches away, his body taut with discomfort. It's a stark reminder of the sensory challenges he now faces. "I'm sorry," Karen says quickly, retracting her hand. She's read about sensory issues in autism, but experiencing it firsthand is overwhelming. She's eager to learn what will soothe him, what will help him navigate this new reality without causing him discomfort. "It's ok" Plankton mumbles, his hands moving in a soothing motion over the blanket. Karen's determined to learn. "What do you need, honey?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's hand stops its erratic movement. He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he whispers. Her eyes fill with hope, clutching onto his words like a lifeline. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks again, her tone soft and patient. He turns his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the couch. Karen gently guides him to the couch, placing a pillow under his head. She grabs his favorite blanket, and drapes it over him. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the softness. His hands resume their repetitive stroking, this time on the fabric. Karen notices his eye is drawn to the patterns, and she wonders if the visual stimulation helps him focus. Gently, she sits beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Karen's mind is a storm of thoughts and questions, but she forces herself to be present, to be patient. Plankton's hand continues to move over the blanket. He's in his own world, yet she's eager to understand it.

PLUSH ONE iii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen watches him, his hands stroking the fabric. She reaches out tentatively, touching his arm with the back of her hand. He flinches, his hand freezing mid-stroke. Her eyes fill with regret, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she lets her hand hover for a moment before slowly drawing it back. Plankton's gaze flips to hers, his pupil wide with surprise. He stares at her, then back at her hand. "It's okay," she murmurs, her fingers hovering above his arm once more. This time, he doesn't flinch. Encouraged, she lightly traces his skin, mimicking the movement he'd made with her palm. He watches her, his expression neutral. Then, ever so slightly, his hand relaxes its grip on the blanket. It's as if he's giving his consent for the contact. Karen's eyes well up with tears. This is the first real interaction they've had since the accident. She strokes his arm, her touch light and cautious. He seems to enjoy it, his body slowly unwinding from the tension. It's a dance, learning his new boundaries, his new language of touch. "What do you like?" Karen asks, her voice soft. "What feels good?" Her eyes are on his, watching for any flicker of response. Plankton looks at her, his gaze unreadable, and then his hand moves to cover hers on his arm. It's a gesture so simple, yet so profound, that it takes her breath away. His skin is warm, his touch gentle. He seems to be communicating without words, and she's desperate to understand. "Is this okay?" she whispers, her hand stilling. He nods, his eye never leaving hers. Plankton's movements are precise, deliberate. He's not the same man she knew, but he's still her Plankton. She can see the love in his gaze, the trust in his touch. It's a new way of interacting, but she's willing to learn. As they sit together, Karen notices how Plankton's eye darts around the room, focusing on specific items before moving on. It's as if he's cataloging everything, trying to make sense of his surroundings. She decides to try to engage him with his environment, hoping to spark some familiarity. "Look, Plankton," she says, pointing to a framed photo on the wall. "It's us. Do you remember?" He looks over, his gaze lingering on the picture for a moment. "Karen," he murmurs, his voice soft. "Us." "Yes, that's us. Do you recall?" His eye darts back to the photo. "Yes, Karen; July 31, 1999." The exactitude of the date stuns her. It's a memory she'd thought lost to time. "How do you remember that?" she asks, a smile playing on her screen despite the fear that lingers in her. His gaze doesn't leave the photo. "Special day," he murmurs. "Day married. Karen and Plankton." Karen's eyes widen. His memory for dates and specifics seems to have sharpened, a trait not uncommon in those with autism. It's a stark contrast to the man who often forgot the day of the week unless it was a Krabby Patty special by the Chum Bucket. "You remembered our wedding day," she says, her voice filled with amazement. "That's incredible, Plankton." He nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Happy," he murmurs. "Karen happy." Karen's eyes well up with tears as she nods. "Yes, we were happy," she whispers. "We still are." Plankton's hand moves to hers, his grip firm but gentle. "Karen," he says, his voice a declaration of his presence, his acknowledgment of her. It's a moment of profound connection that transcends words. Her screen swells with hope. They're finding a way to communicate. "Do you want to watch TV?" Karen asks, keeping her voice calm and steady. Plankton nods, his eye still on the photo. She grabs the remote and turns it on. The flickering light from the screen illuminates his face, the blue hue of the plasma waves washing over them. But the program is to loud, and Plankton's body tenses up. "Too loud?" she asks, reading his expression. He nods, his eye never leaving the screen. She quickly turns it off. In the darkness, Karen's mind races. They'd need to make adjustments, little by little. Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the spot where the TV was, his eye searching for the pattern of light that was there moments ago. Karen takes a deep breath, her hand still resting in his. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll find something else." She tries humming, starting with a soft lullaby that fills the room, and she watches his expression, looking for any sign of comfort. His eye flickers closed, and his body relaxes, the tension in his fingers loosening their grip on hers. Encouraged, Karen continues, her voice low and soothing. Plankton's breathing evens out, and she can feel his hand start to relax in hers as he's lulled to a calmness by the predictability of the song's melody. It's a small victory, but one that fills her with hope. She decides to try speaking again, her words carefully chosen. "Plankton, sweetheart, can you tell me what you're thinking about?" He doesn't respond, his eye still closed. "Plankton," Karen whispers. Plankton's breathing remains steady, his hand relaxing further in hers as she notices him sleepily squeezing her fingers. It's a gentle reminder that he's still there, that he's listening. "Karen," he says, his eye sleepily fluttering, "I love you Karen, I love yo..." Plankton's voice trails off as he drifts off to sleep, his head lolling onto her shoulder with a snore. Karen's eyes brim with unshed tears, but she's smiling. The love in his voice was unmistakable. She sits there, holding him. The room is quiet except for his snores and the occasional squeak of the couch. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts, planning for their future. How will they live with his new autism? What will change? What will stay the same? As Plankton sleeps, she notices the way his hand still clutches hers, a silent plea for comfort. She understands that their world has changed, but she's determined to adapt. The quietude of the room is pierced only by the steady rhythm of his snores and the distant hum of the city outside. The TV remains off, the colors of the room muted. Karen knows that bright lights and loud noises can overwhelm him now. She'll have to learn to live with the quiet, to appreciate the small moments of joy that can be found in the simplicity of their new life. Her eyes scan the room, taking in the clutter of their shared life. The unfinished inventions, the half-eaten Krabby Patties, the dusty knick-knacks that once held so much meaning. Everything seems different now, filtered through the lens of Plankton's altered reality. Karen makes a mental note to create a sensory-friendly space for him, a sanctuary where he can retreat from the chaos of the world. But right now it's getting late, and they're both tired. She needs to carry him to their room. With a gentle sigh, she shifts his weight and stands up, his arm draped over her. Plankton's body is limp, his snores a comforting sound in the quiet room. She walks carefully, avoiding any noise that might startle him awake. In their bedroom, Karen lowers Plankton onto his bed and covers him with the blanket. He's still snoring, and she watches him for a moment, committing the sight of him to memory. This is their new normal, and she's scared but ready to face it. Karen reaches over to kiss him on the forehead, her hand lingering there, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I'll figure it out," she whispers, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "We'll make it work."

PLUSH ONE iv (By NeuroFabulous) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands moving in repetitive patterns over the blanket. The sun casts a warm glow over his face, highlighting his furrowed brow. She watches him for a moment, his concentration so intense it's as if he's trying to solve a complex puzzle. "Good morning," she says softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, and for a fraction of a second, she sees fear in his eye before it quickly shifts to recognition. "Karen," he says, his voice a little stronger than yesterday. He looks around the room, his gaze lingering on the closed door, the curtains, the picture of them on their wedding day. Karen notices his hand twitching, his thumb tracing the fabric. It's a new tic, a new way his brain is trying to process the world around him, but she knows she can't let her fear control her. She has to be his rock, his anchor in this storm of change. "Do you need anything?" she asks, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand pauses mid-motion, his eye darting to hers. "Karen," he murmurs, almost to himself. "What's on your mind, Plankton?" she prompts, her voice soft. He stares at the wall, his hand still moving over the fabric. Karen watches him. What can she do to help him? What does he need? The silence stretches, and she decides to try again. "Plankton," she says gently. "What's on your mind?" This time, his hand stops moving, his gaze flicking to hers. "Karen," he says, his voice clear. "What is it, sweetie?" she asks, leaning closer. He takes a deep breath, his eye darting around the room before focusing on her. "Karen," he says, his voice a little more coherent. "Need Karen." It's the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods. "Karen," he repeats, his voice a whisper. Karen's eyes well up with tears of joy and fear. This is the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods again, his hand still clutching the blanket. Karen takes his hand in hers, his skin warm and familiar. "I'm here," she whispers, squeezing gently. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on their entwined fingers, his eye narrowing slightly as if trying to decode a secret message. "You need me to be with you?" Karen clarifies, her voice filled with hope and fear. He nods again, the tension in his body palpable. Her eyes never leave his as she slides closer, sitting beside him on the bed. "I'm here," she repeats, her hand leaving his to rest on his leg. But he jolted away, his body tightening. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, retracting her hand. She's learning the delicate balance of closeness and space, a dance that's unfamiliar but vital to their new life. Plankton's gaze remains on the spot where her hand was, his expression unreadable. Karen wipes at her eyes, willing herself to be strong. "Okay," she says, her voice firm. "Let's try different touches to see which you like?" With gentle hesitation, she begins to explore his sensory preferences, starting with a light stroke on his forearm, watching closely for any signs of discomfort or distress. His hand twitches, but he doesn't flinch. Encouraged, Karen moves her hand up to his antennae, the tenderest of touches. He flinches at first, but his gaze holds hers, willing her to continue. She tries again, stroking them lightly, watching as the tension in his body eases. It's a revelation, a glimpse into his new sensory landscape. "Is that ok?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye closing in what seems like pleasure. "Tickly," he smiles. She tries again, this time a little more pressure. He flinches, and she quickly removes her hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice thick with concern. Plankton opens his eye, looking at her with a mix of confusion and sadness. "Karen," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "Want Karen." Her heart breaks for him, for the man he used to be, for the man he's becoming. "I'm here," she says, her voice soothing. "I'm gonna try different touches." Gently, she starts again, her hand hovering above his arm. This time, she watches his expression closely. When he doesn't react, she touches his skin lightly, her thumb tracing circles. "How does this feel?" Plankton's gaze flits to her hand, his eye studying the movement. "Comfort, rubs," he murmurs. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Okay," she says, her voice steady. She then moves her hand to his cheek. Plankton's eye widens. His skin is warm and smooth under her touch, and she can feel his breathing quicken. "Does this feel okay?" she whispers. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching. "Karen," he says, his voice filled with longing. Karen's eyes widen. This is new territory, a place where the familiar has become strange. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, his expression a silent plea. Her hand stills on his cheek, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's mind races with the implications of his reaction. She's read that some autistic individuals find certain touches overwhelming. She pulls her hand away. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with apology. "I'll try some more different touches." She watches him, her love a steady beacon through the fog of fear. "How about this?" she asks, placing her hand on his shoulder. His breath hitched, his body tensing. "Plankton," she says gently, "Does tha-" "No," he says, his voice firm. He flinches away from the touch, his eye wide with panic. Karen nods. "Okay," she says, her voice soft. "We'll keep trying." She reaches for his hand, her touch deliberate and gentle. This time, his body relaxes, his hand fitting perfectly into hers. It's a small step, but it feels like a victory.

PLUSH ONE v (By NeuroFabulous) They sit there in silence, their hands clasped. Karen can feel the steady rhythm of his breath, his hand twitching slightly with each exhale. She squeezes his hand, a silent promise of support. "I'm here," she whispers again, her voice a balm to the raw edges of his fear. Plankton's body relaxes into hers, his gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. Karen's mind races, trying to understand the complex web of sensory input that now dictates his reality. Every touch, every sound, every sight could be either a comfort or a cacophony. "I'm gonna go clean up the metal container." Karen says, giving him a kiss on the forehead before going. After she left, Plankton thought about his rivalry with Krabs. He didn't want Krabs to be suspicious if he suddenly stops trying to steal his formula. He doesn't want Krabs to find out or figure out about his autism. So he wrote down "I went across the street" on a note if Karen came back. Then, he went to the Krusty Krab restaurant. The bright lights and the noise of the kitchen now overwhelms him. He found a corner and sat down, his eye squeezed shut. His heart raced as he tried to think about the mission. It's a place he's been in countless times, but he's autistic now. Yet he knew and remembered the environment, despite the new sensory experience. Plankton took a deep breath and forced his eye open, his gaze darts around, trying to find the safety vault he knew so well. He saw the familiar soda machine, the greasy counters, and the gleaming spatulas, but everything felt wrong. The smell of cooking oil was too intense, the clatter of pans too loud. His mind raced, trying to process the cacophony of sensory input. He needs to focus on getting the recipe out of that safe! Slowly, Plankton stood, his legs wobbly from the effort to filter out the chaos. He knew he had to keep moving, to complete his task. Now to figure out the combination. He approached the safe, his hands trembling with the effort to block out the noise. The buttons on the safe were cold under his fingertips, and he felt the familiar thrill of a challenge. His mind raced, trying to remember his past schemes and the patterns that had always come so naturally to him. But it was like trying to recall a dream. The numbers and sequences danced just out of reach, taunting him with their elusiveness. His eye darted around, catching sight of the menu board, the colorful condiments, and the glint of the cash register. It was all too much. He stepped back, his breaths coming quick and shallow. He needed to find his center, to focus on the task at hand. He closed his eye and thought of Karen, the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her voice. It grounded him, calmed the storm in his head. With renewed determination, he opened his eye. The safe was a monolith, a silent witness to his tumultuous thoughts. He studied the buttons, the cold metal under his fingertips. He knew the pattern had to be simple, something Krabs would think secure. Plankton's mind raced, trying to decipher the sequence that had once come to him so easily. He closed his eye, trying to concentrate, but the sounds and smells of the kitchen crashed over him like a wave. The cacophony was unbearable, a stark contrast to the quiet orderliness of his laboratory. He took a deep breath, focusing on the cool metal of the safe. He had to get the Krabby Patty formula. For Karen, for himself. This was a purpose, his obsession. But now, everything felt different. The familiar had become strange, the simple complex. With trembling hands, Plankton started to press buttons on the safe, his mind racing with the patterns of his past attempts. But his brain didn't respond in the usual way. The numbers jumbled, the sequences slipped away. He felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him, the kitchen sounds amplifying his anxiety. What numbers would Krabs put in? He took a deep breath and tried to visualize their conversations, the tiny details that might hold the key. But every memory was now filtered through the lens of his new autistic brain. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. His hand hovered over the dial, his eye blinking rapidly. "Krabs," he murmured to himself. "What would Krabs say?" The name echoed in his head, a beacon in the fog. Plankton knew his rival's patterns, his obsessions. He thought of Krabs' parsimony, his love for his secret formula. It had to be something significant to him, something that made sense in his own peculiar way. Plankton's thumb tapped the side of the safe, his mind racing through memories. And then it clicked. Krabs had always talked about his mother's birthday, a sacred number, a key to his heart. Plankton tried the combination, his heart pounding. The dial spun smoothly, the clicks sounding like a symphony in his heightened hearing. 14-6-82. The safe whirred to life, the door popping open. Plankton's eye widened in amazement, his heart racing. He'd done it. He reached in and grabbed the precious envelope. The Krabby Patty formula, in Krabs' own scrawl. It was within his grasp. Now to get out of here! But how? What's made him always get caught before? The chaos of the kitchen faded away, and he saw the pattern. It was his lack of disguise, his hasty exits. This time would be different. He needed to blend in, to become part of the background. He needed to calm down, to think through his actions logically. He couldn't let his excitement overwhelm him. Plankton had to get out without drawing attention to himself. He thought back to the times he'd seen Krabs interact with his employees, the casual way he'd moved through the kitchen... Plankton then spotted the air vent! Sure enough, he and the recipe both fit through. He emerged into the alley, his heart racing. The cold air was a slap in the face, but it also brought with it a sense of clarity. He knew his sensory overload would make a hasty retreat impossible. But he's out of the Krusty Krab! He ran back to his own place across the street. Plankton stumbled into his lab, his eye taking in the familiar sights with new intensity. The colors were too bright, the smells too potent, the sounds of his own inventions too loud. But here, he knew he was safe. He laid the envelope on his workbench, his hand shaking with excitement. This was his life's work, the elixir to his problems. But now, with the Krabby Patty formula in his grasp, he wasn't sure what to do next. His mind raced with the sensory input from the kitchen, making it difficult to think clearly. The lab's chaos seemed to calm him, though. The familiar sounds of beeping machines and the faint scent of chemicals soothed his overwhelmed senses. He took a deep breath, his hand steadying. The envelope sat there, a symbol of his old life. His obsession with the Krabby Patty formula had been the driving force behind their rivalry for so long. Now, his autism didn't erase his past, it just colored it differently. The desire to be successful, to have what Krabs had, remained. But the way he approached the world had changed. He knew the taste, the smell, the very essence of a Krabby Patty. It was a part of him now, a memory that could never fade. He stared at the envelope, his heart racing. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye focusing on the paper. His hands trembled as he opened it, the formula's secrets were written in a made up code by Krabs. But Plankton's autism made it decipherable to him! The letters and numbers danced on the page, but instead of the jumbled mess he'd expected, they formed patterns, beautiful patterns that his brain craved. He saw the structure, the order, the way each ingredient intertwined with the next. It was like a symphony of flavors, and he was the conductor. His heart raced as he read through the document, his mind whirling with the possibilities. He threw away the handwritten note from before as he brought the formula into the bedroom with him. Plankton sat on the bed, his mind racing. The code was complex, but he could see the patterns. It was like the universe had laid bare its secrets to him.

PLUSH ONE vi (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton knew he could make Krabby Patties now. He could have the success he'd always craved! Just then, Karen comes in to check on him. Her eyes widen when she sees an envelope in his grasp. "What's that?" she asks. Plankton's face lights up, his eye shining with excitement. "Formula," he says, his voice quick and choppy. "Secret recipe." Karen's eyes narrow. "How did you get that?" she asks. Plankton's smiling awkwardly, his eye darting to the side. "Found it," he murmurs, his grip tightening on the envelope with anticipation. Karen's screen lights up, her eyes shining with excitement. "Oh, Plankton, that's amazing!" she shrieks, clapping her hands together. Her shrill cheer is loud for Plankton, each clap echoing in the space. But her excitement quickly fades as she sees the look of terror on his face. "What's wrong?" she asks, seeing Plankton flinch. "Loud," he whimpers, his eye wide with fear. It dawns on Karen that the sound of her clapping was too much for him, her screen filled with regret for getting to excited and yelling, knowing she's hurt him, even if it was unintentional. "I'm so—" Plankton cuts her off with a quick shake of his head. "No," he murmurs, his eye searching hers desperately. "Karen, safe." The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Karen's heart races. What had she done wrong? Her excitement for him had turned into a trigger. She sits by him, her hand tentatively reaching out... Plankton flinches at the sudden movement. His eye widens in fear. Karen's heart breaks. "It's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "It's just me, Karen." But her words don't penetrate his new reality. He clutches the envelope to his chest, his breathing rapid. The world around him is a minefield of sensory overload, and she's the unknown variable. She can see the fear in his eye, the way his antennae twitch. "Plankton," she says softly, keeping her voice low and even. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt yo-" He jumps at the sound of her voice, his antennae shooting up like antennas detecting a threat. The envelope flutters to the floor, forgotten. "Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand hovering in the air, afraid to make contact. "You're scared of me?" He nods, his body tight as a coiled spring, his breaths shallow. "Karen," he says, his voice shaky. "Love Karen." The words hang in the air, a testament to their bond. But the fear in his eye tells a different story. This is the first time he's expressed fear of her, and it hits Karen like a punch to the gut. "Plankton," she says softly, keeping her voice low, "You know I'd never tr-" He flinches again, the simplicity of his fear stark. "Need space," he mumbles, his voice barely audible over the pounding in her chest. Karen nods, her hand falling to her side. She takes a step back, giving him the distance he needs. "Okay," she says, her voice breaking. "I'll be right he-" "No," he says, his voice urgent. Karen's eyes follow his gaze, understanding his distress. They both know what that envelope means to him, a bridge between his old life and his new reality. Gently, she picks it up, her hand shaking slightly. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice low. "How about if I keep my voice dow-" But Plankton's already shaking his head, his eye wide with panic. "No," he says, his voice strained. "Mine." Karen's heart clenches. She understands his fear, but she also knows the importance of his obsession. "Okay," she says, placing the envelope in his hands. "Let's just sit." But then she accidentally touches him, brushing his arm. "Whoops," she says, her voice shaking. "I---" But he pulls away, his body rigid with tension. "No touch," he says firmly. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears she fights to hold back. She's learning the dance of his new reality, the steps not quite familiar yet. "Okay," she whispers, her hand retreating to her lap. "Let's just ta-" But Plankton's eye snaps to the envelope in his hand, his grip tightening. "Mine," he repeats, his voice a mix of panic and determination. Karen nods, her heart aching. "Okay," she says softly, her hands in her lap. "W---" But Plankton's eye is still on the envelope, his grip tightening. "NO," he says, his voice rising, the word echoing in the room. Karen's eyes widen, his distress clear. "Plankton," she whispers, her hands up in a peaceful gesture. "Ca--" But Plankton's panic doesn't subside. He clutches the envelope, his body shaking. "SAID, NO!" he shouts. "NO! MORE! NO MORE!" This isn't the man she knew, the man she'd spoken to just moments ago. The room feels smaller, the air thicker with his fear. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice shaking. "I'll give you space." She retreats to her own bed. Plankton's breaths slow, his body relaxing slightly. Karen watches him from the corner of her screen. The silence stretches between them, thick with the unspoken words of fear and misunderstanding. Her hand aches to reach out to him, to soothe his anxiety, but she knows better now. She's a stranger in his world of sensory chaos. Karen lies in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind whirling with what-ifs and worries. She'd read about the unpredictability of autism, how it could affect people in so many different ways. But seeing it firsthand, feeling the sharp edge of Plankton's panic, was something else entirely. Her thoughts are a tangled web of emotions - love, fear, determination. She'll learn his new language, this dance of sensory avoidance and connection. They'll find their way through this, together. But for now, she needs to respect his boundaries, the lines he's drawn around his comfort. The room is silent except for Plankton quietly reading the recipe to himself. Her eyes follow his movements, his lips moving as he whispers the ingredients, his antennae twitching with each word as she watches him from afar. This is her Plankton, but not. The man she loves, lost in his new world of patterns and fears. Plankton's eye darts to her, his voice a whisper. "Karen?" The fear in his voice is palpable. "I'm here," she says. She wants to comfort him, to wipe away his distress. But she knows better now. She's a guest in his new world, and she must tread lightly.

PLUSH ONE vii (By NeuroFabulous) The room feels alien, the walls closing in around Karen. Plankton's autism has painted a new reality, one filled with sounds too loud, lights too bright, and emotions too intense. Plankton then sniffles as tears start to trickle down his cheeks. "Karen," he says, his voice desperate. "Plankton... Karen upset? Plankton not meant to upset Karen." Karen's screen swells with love and pity. She can't bear to see his pain, his confusion. "It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't do anything wrong." She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm just learning, sweetie. We both are." Plankton sniffles, his eye searching hers. "Love Karen," he says, his voice a tremble. "Yes; Karen Plankton." "I love you, too," she whispers. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on the envelope, his antennae quivering. "Loving Karen even when wanting space." Karen nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "We'll figure this out," she says, her voice a balm to his fear. Plankton's hand opens, the envelope slipping onto the bed. "Plankton memorized formula. Plankton need put back, in Krabs safety vault." Karen's eyes widen with shock. "You... you remember each and every detail; how?" Plankton's eye twitches, a flurry of thoughts racing across his face. "Patterns," he whispers. "Everything in patterns. Krabby Patty, Krabs, all patterns." Karen nods, her mind racing. "So, you're saying you'll return it, so Krabs won't know you got it. Ok, sweets." Plankton nods vigorously, his antennae bobbing. "Yes." He goes and does so before hurrying back. "Plankton did it! And not caught!" Karen swells with pride, despite the circumstances. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, let's focus on you. How do you feel?" Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae waving in contemplation. "Different," he murmurs. "Everything's so... much." He looks around the room, his gaze landing on their wedding photo. "But Karen, always. Love." Karen smiles through her tears, touched by his words. "I know, sweetie. I love you, too." The room feels smaller, the air thick with their shared understanding. Plankton's autism has become a part of them, a third entity in their relationship. They'll have to navigate this new reality together, a dance of patience and empathy. Karen watches him, his movements now a symphony of tics and rituals, each gesture a clue to his inner world. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper in the cacophony of his thoughts. He looks at her, his eye searching hers. "Does," he says. "Do Plankton." Karen nods. "What does my Plankton need?" He looks at her, his eye swiveling in his newly autistic way, trying to find the words. "Karen," he says, his voice a gentle wave of comfort. "Safe Karen." Karen's eyes well with tears, understanding his need for familiarity. She nods, her hand reaching out to stroke his antennae gently. "Yes, Plankton. You're safe with me." The contact sends a rush of comfort through him, his body relaxing slightly. He closes his eye, leaning into her touch. "Good Karen," he whispers. Karen continues stroking his antennae, her hand trembling with emotion. "What else can I do for you?" she asks, her voice low and soothing. Plankton's eye opens slightly, his focus on her touch. "Love Karen," he murmurs, his voice filled with longing. "Always, love." "I know, Plankton. We're in this together." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Together," he echoes. Karen can see the fear in his eye, the way it searches hers for reassurance. She nods, her hand moving to gently stroke his arm. But the moment her hand makes contact with his skin, Plankton's body stiffens. He jerks away, his eye wide with terror. "NO!" he shouts, the sound piercing the quiet room. Karen's hand freezes in midair, her thoughts racing. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's already retreated to the corner of the room, his body curled into a protective ball. "Not now," he murmurs, his voice shaking. "No touch." She'd hurt him without meaning to, crossed a line he hadn't even drawn yet. She takes a step back, her hand hovering in the air. "Okay," she says, her voice barely a whisper. Then an idea forms in her head. Carefully, she picks up a plushie, her movements slow and deliberate. "Look, Plankton," she says, her voice calm and even. "It's your plush.." But Plankton's eye remains wide with fear, his antennae rigid. "NO!" he shouts, the word echoing in the room. Karen's hand freezes, the plushie dropping to the floor forgotten. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice soft and trembling. "I di-" But Plankton's eye is locked on her screen, his body shaking. "NO!" he screams, his autism surging. This is new, this raw fear. He's never reacted so strongly before. "I didn't know." Karen aches for him, but she knows she can't force her way in. Plankton's breaths come quick and shallow, his body trembling. She wants to comfort him, to tell him it's okay, but she knows it's not. Not right now. Instead, she sits down on the bed, giving him the space he needs. Her eyes on him, watching his every move. The plushie lies on the floor, which he tentatively reaches with his shaky hand. He then clutches it as he remains in the corner of the room on the floor. Karen watches him. The man she loves is lost in his own sensory overload, and she feels powerless. "Would you like me to sing..." Plankton's eye snaps to hers, his face a mask of terror. "No!" he shouts, his voice sharp as a knife. The room falls silent, the air charged with his fear. Karen's seen this look before, but never with such intensity. His autism has painted their lives with new colors, vivid and overwhelming. She takes a step back, her hand raised in a peaceful gesture. "Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry." Plankton's eye doesn't leave the plushie, embracing it. "MINE," he murmurs, his voice a mix of anger and fear. Karen nods, her voice calm. "Yes, Plankton. It's your plushie. You're safe." She doesn't move, knowing any sudden action could send him spiraling again. The silence is heavy, punctuated by Plankton's quick, shallow breaths. Karen's mind races, trying to understand his new rules, his new reality. Plankton clutches the plushie to his chest, his eye squeezed shut. Karen's seen his fear before, but never like this. The autism has unlocked a new intensity in him, his emotions a maelstrom she can't begin to navigate. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice soothing. "You're okay. I'm here." Her hand reaches out, but she stops short, not wanting to invade his space. His grip on the plushie loosens slightly, his breathing evening out. Karen's eyes never leave his face, watching for any sign of distress. "Would you like me to sit w---" But Plankton's eye snaps to hers, his voice firm. "No please," he says. The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of their new normal. Karen nods, her hand falling to her side. She knows he's trying to control his environment, to find comfort in the chaos. "Okay," she says softly. "I'll be right here." The room is silent but for the occasional whisper of his voice, recounting the formula to himself. She watches him from afar. But she's also in awe of his ability to process the patterns and remember every detail. Karen sighs. She observes his every move, the way his antennae twitch to the rhythm of his thoughts. This isn't the exact same Plankton she knew, but this is the Plankton she still loves. She watches him, his eye still closed, his body slowly relaxing as he clutches the plushie.

PLUSH ONE viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's mind races with questions, but she knows better than to ask now. She watches Plankton closely, his body slowly unwinding. His eye opens slightly, his gaze flicking to his plushie. "Plankton," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Would you like to sit with me?" He considers her offer, his antennae twitching nervously. Then, with a shaky nod, he crawls across the floor, his body still tense, and sits by her side, the plushie still clutched in one hand. Karen swells with relief, the air in the room finally feeling a bit less suffocating. She keeps her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae still twitching. The man she loves is trying, and it's all she can ask. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae twitching, a constant reminder of the world he now navigates. She reaches out tentatively, her hand hovering near his. "Would you like me to hold your hand?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. He looks at her hand, then at her, his eye swiveling in consideration. For a moment, Karen thinks he might reject her offer, but slowly, his hand reaches out and wraps around hers. It's a tentative gesture. His grip is firm, but not too tight, his antennae quivering as he tries to process the sudden contact. She holds her breath, afraid to disturb the fragile peace they've found. Karen's mind races, trying to recall everything she's read about autism, about how touch can be both a source of comfort and of pain. She remembers the importance of consent, of letting the person with autism lead the way. So she sits, her hand in his, and waits. The room is still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside their window. Plankton's breaths are steady now, his grip on the plushie loosening. His antennae are still, no longer searching the air for threats. Karen's eyes are locked on their intertwined hands, the warmth of his palm a comfort she hadn't realized she'd missed. "You're doing so well," she whispers, her voice as gentle as his only response is a twitch of his antennae. His eye flicks to hers, a silent question. "It's okay," she says, her smile reassuring. "We're just sitting together." Plankton nods slightly, his eye still focused on their joined hands. He then repeats her words, his voice a mirror of her own. "Okay, sitting together." The phrase echoes. It's called echolalic palilalia, a common trait in those with autism, where words are repeated. Karen nods with love. "Yes," she says. "Sitting together." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a hint of a smile playing. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

PLUSH ONE ix (By NeuroFabulous) They sit in silence, their hands a bridge between their worlds. She can feel his pulse beneath her thumb, the steady beat of his heart. Plankton's eye flicks to the plushie in his other hand. Karen notices the change in his expression, a flicker of something she can't quite read. His grip on her hand remains steady, but the plushie seems to have captured his full attention. She wonders what thoughts are racing through his mind, the patterns and sensory inputs he's processing in his newly autistic state. Plankton's eye narrows, and his hand twitches. She can see the determination in his face, a reminder of the man she fell in love with, still present beneath the layers of fear and confusion. "What is it, Plankton?" she asks, her voice gentle. He stares at the plushie, his eye flickering with thought. "Need still," he murmurs. Karen nods. His autism craves structure, predictability. She moves slowly, her eyes never leaving his, and reaches for the plushie. "May I..." But Plankton's hand tightens, his body tense. "MINE!" he snaps, his voice sharp. Karen's hand stops mid-air, her heart racing. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just a..." But Plankton's voice is steady. "MINE," he repeats, his gaze unwavering. She understands now. The plushie is more than just a toy; it's a comfort object, a piece of his new reality that grounds him. "Okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's yours. You can hold it as long as you like." Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his breaths deepen. He nods slightly, his grip on the plushie unyielding. Karen's mind races, trying to think of ways to ease his fear without overwhelming his senses. "Would you li—" "NO!" he shouts. She's learned the importance of his sensory needs, of not pushing too hard. "Okay," she says, her voice calm, knowing better than to interrupt. Plankton clutches the plushie, his eye squeezed shut. "MINE," he whispers, his voice a tremble. She wants to comfort him, to tell him that she loves him, that she'll always be there for him. But she knows that words might not be what he needs right now. Instead, she sings a soft lullaby. Plankton's hand squeezes hers, his breaths slowing with each note. He opens his eye slightly, his gaze finding hers. "Karen," he whispers. The fear is there, but so is the love, unspoken but as real as the air they breathe. She sings as his body relaxes, his antennae still. Karen watches him, his eyelid fluttering closed. His hand in hers is still, the plushie pressed to his chest. Her screen swells with love and sadness. The man she knows is exhausted from the day's sensory bombardment. His new autistic brain has been working overtime to make sense of a world now too loud, too bright, too much. Plankton's eyelid flickers, his antennae drooping. His grip on her hand loosens, his breaths deepening with each verse. Karen's voice is a soft lullaby. Plankton's grip on the plushie loosens, his eyelid fluttering shut. Karen sings, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his grip on her hand softening. The plushie rises and falls with his deepening breaths, his body finally at ease. Karen's eyes fill with tears of relief as she watches him slip into sleep, his hand still clutching the plushie as he starts to snore lightly. Her screen is a mix of emotions: fear, sorrow, and a fierce love that won't let her look away. Karen watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath, the plushie a pillow beneath his cheek. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. Her mind races with the day's events, trying to process the sudden shift in their lives. But for now, she'll just be here, present in this moment of peace. Karen gently squeezes his hand, the gesture small but significant. Her love for him unchanged, though their relationship has taken a new form. The plushie rests between them, now a symbol of his autism's comforting embrace. She's heard about the importance of routine and familiar objects for those on the spectrum. Karen watches Plankton, his sleep deep and peaceful. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and fears, wondering what tomorrow will bring for him. But tonight, he's just Plankton, her Plankton, asleep beside her. Their hands still entwined, his antennae finally still. Karen sighs, her eyes closed. She's tired, and the quiet hum of his snoring is a comfort. Her thoughts drift to their life before, to the days when his plans were more about Krabby Patties than patterns. A tear escapes, tracing a path down her screen. She misses those days, but more than anything, she misses his touch. Plankton's hand twitches in his sleep, and she wonders if he's dreaming of the ocean, of their underwater world. The world he used to navigate so easily, now a labyrinth of sensory overload, but she refuses to let the weight of the day crush her spirit. They'll figure this out together, find a new rhythm..

NEW REALITY v (Autistic author) Karen watches him for a moment before speaking again. "Plankton, can you tell me what's going on in your head?" He looks at her, his eye blinking slowly. "In head?" he repeats. Plankton's hand starts to move faster, his thoughts racing. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs to himself. "Must spin." Karen watches him, her heart wrenching at the sight. He's lost in his own world, one she can't enter without causing distress. "Plankton," she says softly, "can you tell me more about the spinning?" He nods, his hand moving in harmony with his thoughts. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs to himself, his voice low and rhythmic. "Fan spin, make world still." "What do you mean, Plankton?" she asks gently. He looks at her, his expression flickering with something akin to understanding. "Inside, spin fast, quiet," he explains, his hand still moving in the air. "Spin, calm. Like Karen." Karen's eyes widen, her heart racing. "Your brain spins fast, like the fan?" she asks, trying to follow. Plankton nods, his gaze flicking to the spinning blades. "Inside, fast," he says, his voice a faint whisper. "What's fast inside, sweetie?" Karen asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his hand still moving. "Thoughts," he says. "Thoughts spin fast. Like fan." Karen's mind races as she tries to keep up with his erratic speech. "So, the fan helps slow down the spinning?" she asks, hoping to clarify. Plankton nods, his hand moving in time with his words. "Fan slow, thoughts slow." Karen's heart swells with love and sadness as she watches him. "It's okay," she whispers, wiping away a tear. "We'll find ways to make things easier for you." Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. "Easy," he agrees. "With Karen." Karen's eyes fill with love as she squeezes his hand. "Always," she promises. "But what about when I'm not here?" Plankton's hand starts to shake, his gaze darting around the room. "Karen go?" he asks, his voice panicked. Karen's eyes widen, her heart pounding. "No, Plankton, I'm right here," she assures him, squeezing his hand tightly. "I'm not going anywhere." But Plankton's gaze remains unfocused, his breathing quickening. "Karen go?" he repeats, his voice rising in pitch. Karen's heart races as she feels his panic growing. "I'm here," she says, her voice soothing. "I'm not leaving. The fan is spinning, remember?" But Plankton's eye is wide, his hand moving frantically in the air. "Karen go," he whispers, his body trembling. Karen's heart squeezes in her chest. "No, I'm not leaving," she says, trying to keep her voice calm. But Plankton's body starts to shake, his movements becoming more erratic. "Plankton, no," Karen says, her voice filled with fear. "Stay with me." But his hand jerks away, his body convulsing. Karen's eyes go wide with fear as she sees him spasm uncontrollably. "Oh no," she whispers, her heart racing. This isn't just a panic attack; it's a seizure. She's read about this, how some people with autism can have them. Her first instinct is to hold him, to protect him from the chaos of his own brain, but she knows that's not what he needs. She needs to keep his environment calm, to let the seizure pass without interference. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her voice steady despite the terror clawing at her insides. "Just keep watching the fan." But his body convulses more violently. Karen's read about this, how some with autism can have seizures triggered by stress. Her mind races as she quickly clears the space around his fragile form, ensuring nothing can hurt him. She dims the lights, hoping the reduced stimulation will help. "Shh, it's okay," she whispers, stroking his back in slow, soothing motion, her voice low and calm. Plankton's body jerks less, his breathing evening out slightly as he focuses on her voice. Karen watches him, her heart in her throat, until his convulsions cease. Plankton's body relaxes, his eye closing as his breathing slows. Karen watches him, her own breath held, until she's sure the seizure has passed. Her hand shakes as she runs it over his antennae, checking for any injury. Plankton's eye opens, his gaze unfocused. "Karen," he whispers, his voice weak. Karen's heart skips a beat as she squeezes his hand. "I'm here," she says, her voice steady. "You had a seizure, but it's over now." Plankton nods, his gaze still not quite meeting hers. "Tired," he murmurs. Karen's heart aches. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with concern. "Let's get you into bed, okay?" Plankton nods, his body still trembling slightly. He allows her to help him up, his legs wobbly like jelly. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her heart in her throat as she helps him to the bed, tucking him in. As she pulls the covers up to his chin, Plankton's body starts to twitch, his head jerking to the side. Karen's breath catches; these are new tics, she realizes. "It's okay," she whispers. He looks at her. "Tired," he repeats. Karen nods, her own exhaustion setting in. "I know, let's get you some rest," she says, her voice gentle. As she sits beside him, Plankton's head tilts slightly. She's read about tics with autism, but this is the first time she's seen them in him. Subtle movements, quick jerks to the side, like his brain is trying to shake off a pesky thought. Karen's heart squeezes with each tiny spasm, wishing she could soothe his mind. "Plankton," she says softly. His head nods down. Karen's eyes follow the rhythmic motion, her heart racing. She's read about these tics, the involuntary spasms that can accompany his new diagnosis. "It's okay," she whispers, trying to keep her voice calm. "You're safe here." But Plankton's eye closes now, his breathing deep and even. The tremors have subsided, and his hands rest quietly on the covers. She watches him, her own breathing slowing to match his, until she's sure he's asleep. Karen sits back, her own body weary from the rollercoaster of emotions. The silence in the room is deafening, the only sound the steady hum of the fan. Her mind races with questions, with fears about what the future holds for Plankton, for them. How can she help him navigate this new world, where the simplest interactions are fraught with potential chaos? Karen sits in the quiet room, the only sound the fan's soothing whirr. She watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath. Her heart swells with love and determination. "I'll do whatever it takes," she murmurs. Her eyes never leave his peaceful face, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Karen knows that the fan has become a lifeline for him, but she also knows that she can't let it become his only comfort. With a deep sigh, she stands up and walks over to the fan, slowly turning it off. The silence is stark, but Plankton doesn't stir. She watches his face for any sign of distress, ready to react if needed. Karen knows she has to find a balance, to help Plankton find other ways to cope with the world's overwhelming stimuli. The fan can't be his only solace. The room falls silent, the absence of the fan's spin a stark reminder of the challenge ahead. Her heart in her throat, she sits back down beside him. "Karen?" he whispers, his eye fluttering open. Her heart jumps. "I'm here," she says, her voice gentle. Plankton nods. They sit in the quiet, his gaze drifting around the room. Karen's mind whirs with thoughts.

NEW REALITY iii (Autistic author) "You know, Plankton," she starts, trying to keep the conversation going, "you've always been so clever with your inventions. Maybe this is just your brain working in overdrive, processing everything faster than ever before." He nods, his eyes still glued to the fan. "Fast," he agrees, his hand moving in the same repetitive motion. "Like fan." Karen tries to keep her voice even as she sits beside him. "You're right," she says, smiling. "It is fast." Plankton's hand stops moving for a moment, then resumes the wave-like motion. "Fast," he agrees, his eye never leaving the fan's rotation. Karen watches him, her mind racing. Could it be that he's just really focused on the fan? Maybe his brain is working differently now, focusing on details that she's always missed. She tries to find comfort in this explanation, but the emptiness in his gaze unsettles her. She reaches for his arm, hoping to ground him, to bring his attention back to her. But his hand jerks away, his movements quick and erratic. "Plankton, honey, are you okay?" she asks, her voice tight with worry. His eye flicks to her for a brief moment before returning to the fan. "Karen," he says, his tone flat and emotionless. "Water. Thanks." He takes another sip, his hand shaking slightly as he sets the glass down. Karen's heart clenches, wishing she could take his pain away. Maybe he's just overwhelmed, she tells herself. Maybe all this spinning is a way for him to calm down, to make sense of the world again. "Plankton," she says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me." He does, his eye meeting hers with a flicker of something she can't quite place. "You know, you can tell me anything." He nods, his gaze flicking back to the fan. "Tell Karen," he repeats, his voice a monotone echo. Karen's mind is racing, but she keeps her tone calm. "Plankton, sweetie, what do you mean?" He points to the fan again. "Fan. Spin. Like." His words come out slowly, as if he's trying to piece together a puzzle. Karen nods, her heart racing. "Yes, the fan spins. It's like when you tell me your grand plans for the Krabby Patty formula," she says, trying to draw him back into their shared world. But Plankton's eye doesn't even flicker at the mention of his lifelong obsession. Instead, he starts to rock slightly, his hand moving back and forth in the same pattern. "Spin. Fan," he mumbles, his voice a distant echo. Karen tries to ignore the fear creeping into her voice. "Plankton, what's going on? Why are you doing this?" Plankton's hand stops moving for a moment, then starts again. "Fan," he murmurs. "Spin." Karen's mind is racing, but she tries to stay calm. "It's okay, Plankton," she says soothingly, her hand still on his shoulder. "The fan is spinning. It's a simple machine, doing what it's meant to do." He nods, his gaze still locked on the fan's blades. "Spin. Yes." His voice is flat. Karen swallows hard, trying to find the right words. Maybe if she can get him to focus on something else, he'll snap out of this strange behavior. "LOOK AT ME!" She grabs his wrists.. Startled, Plankton's eye darts to hers, his pupil wide with shock. "Karen?" he asks, his voice tinged with anger. "Karen scaring Plankton." He says, his eye welling up with tears as he starts crying. Karen's heart shatters, she didn't mean to scare him, she just wanted to get through to his old self. "I'm sorry," she whispers, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's okay." Plankton's sobs are muffled against her chest, his body stiff and unyielding. Her eyes fill with tears as she tries to soothe him, rubbing his back in small, gentle circles. "It's okay," she repeats, desperation lacing her words. "You're okay." He pulls away slightly, looking up at her. "Karen, sad," he says, his voice still flat. "Why Karen sad?" Karen sniffs, wiping away her tears. "I'm just... worried about you." Plankton's eye widens, his expression unchanged. "Worry?" he questions, as if tasting the word. Karen nods, her heart heavy. "Yes, worry. It's when someone cares about you and is concerned about your well-being." Plankton nods, but his gaze slides back to the fan. "Fan spin," he says, his voice monotonous. Karen sighs, trying to redirect his focus. "Plankton, let's talk about something else. Like, what do you want to do today?" He blinks, his hand still waving. "Do today?" he echoes. "Fan spin." Karen's stomach drops. Maybe he's just fixated on the fan, but something in his voice sends a shiver down her spine. "Plankton," she says softly, her hand still on his back. "I know you're not feeling like yourself right now, but can you try to focus on me for one minute?" "One minute, sixty seconds," Plankton murmurs, his hand continuing its rhythmic dance. "Yes, that's right," Karen encourages, despite the sinking feeling in her chest. "Can you tell me what you see?" Plankton looks at her, his expression still eerily blank. "See Karen," he says, his voice devoid of warmth. "See bed. See wall." Karen's eyes widen as realization hits her. He's not just fixated on the fan; he's taking everything she says literally. "Plankton, I'm not sad about the fan spinning. I'm sad because you're not acting like you." He looks at her, then at the fan, then back at her. "Fan spin," he repeats, his eye searching hers for understanding. "No, no, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "I'm sad because you're not okay." She takes a deep breath. "You're not you." He nods, his hand still moving. "Plankton okay," he insists. "Karen sad." Karen's heart breaks a little more. "I know you think you're okay," she says, her voice trembling. "But you're acting differently, sweetie. You're not the same." She decided to scan his brain. The brain scan results come back, and Karen stares. There it is, stark and clear: acquired Autism It's not something they can reverse.

NEW REALITY iv (Autistic author) "Plankton," she starts, her voice shaking, "the explosion changed your brain. It's called Autism." His eye widens slightly as he takes in the words, his hand still moving in its repetitive pattern. He repeats the word, "Autism?" his tone curious. Karen nods, wiping her screen. "It's like... your brain now sees and feels things differently. It's okay," she adds quickly, trying to reassure him. "It's just different." Plankton seems to consider this, his hand finally still. "Different," he whispers. Karen nods, trying to smile through her tears. "But we'll get through this together," she says, her voice shaking. "We're a team." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face for a moment before returning to the fan. "Team," he echoes, his hand stilling briefly before resuming its wave-like motion. Karen swallows hard, trying to keep her composure. She needs to find a way to connect with him, to bridge the gap that seems to be growing wider by the second. She brings his hand to her cheek. "Do you feel that?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper. He nods, his hand feeling cold against her skin. "Feel," he says, his tone flat. "Karen warm." Encouraged, Karen tries a gentle squeeze of his hand. His gaze doesn't waver from the fan, but his grip tightens slightly. "Squeeze," he murmurs, his voice a monotone. Her heart racing, Karen decides to experiment with different types of affectionate touches. She strokes his antennae lightly, watching his reaction. His eye flutters closed for a moment, then opens again. "Tickle," he says, his voice a little more animated. Encouraged, she gently traces his back with her fingers. "Yes good." He says. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she feels a glimmer of hope. "I'm going to try some more things, okay?" Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. "More," he agrees. Karen takes a deep breath and starts with a soft caress of his cheek, the way she used to do before they went to sleep. His eye flickers slightly, his hand continuing its motion. "Okay," he says, his voice almost a whisper. Next, she tries a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Karen, nice," he murmurs, his antennae twitching. Encouraged, she decides to move to a different type of pressure. "How's this feel; good or bad?" Karen asks, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder when he suddenly flinches and pulls away. "No," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "To hard." Karen's hand recoils, her heart racing. She tries to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry, Plankton. Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his gaze unfocused. "Yes, Karen. Try." Gently, she starts to rub his back in small, soothing circles. "How about this?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's body relaxes slightly. "Good," he murmurs. Encouraged, she tries a gentle pat on his knee. "This?" "Stop," he says. Karen's hand freezes mid-air, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, did I do that wrong?" Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the fan. "Wrong," he confirms, his voice a monotone. Karen's face falls, her heart sinking. She's treading on thin ice, not knowing what will trigger his next reaction. She takes a deep breath, trying to think of a safe approach. "How about a hug?" she asks, slowly opening her arms. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. He leans into her embrace, his body stiff at first, but gradually softening. "Karen," he murmurs, his voice a little less flat. Karen holds him tightly, her heart pounding. Maybe this is the way to reach him, through physical affection that doesn't overstimulate. She squeezes tighter. "Enough!" Plankton pulls away, his eye wide with anxiety. Karen's heart drops. She'd pushed too hard, too soon. "I'm sorry," she whispers, backing off immediately. She tries again, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "How does this feel?" His eye flicks to her hand, then back to the fan. "Okay," he says, his voice still mechanical. Karen keeps her hand there, willing him to look at her, to respond more naturally. But his gaze remains fixed on the spinning blades. Despite her fear of pushing too far, she gently takes his hand in hers. "Does this feel okay?" she asks. Plankton nods, his movements becoming less erratic. "Yes," he murmurs, his hand still in the same wave pattern. Karen decides to keep trying, moving her thumb in small circles on the back of his palm. Plankton's breath hitches, and she sees his pupil dilate slightly. "This?" she asks. He nods, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Encouraged, she switches to interlocking her fingers with his, feeling the coldness of his grip. "And this?" "Good," he says, his voice a bit softer. Karen tries a gentle squeeze, his hand stilling under hers. "Does this feel okay?" Plankton nods, his smile widening a fraction. Her heart racing with hope, she presses her cheek to his. "How about this?" she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body momentarily still. "Not now," he says, his voice a bit more present. Karen nods, her eyes stinging with tears. "Okay," she says, trying not to let her voice crack. She'll keep trying. Her hand moves to his shoulder, squeezing gently. "What about this?" Plankton's body tenses, his eye flicking to her hand, then back to the fan. "No," he says, his voice a firm rejection. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just want to help." Plankton's hand resumes its wave-like motion. "Help," he repeats. "Karen help." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I will," she promises, determined to find a way to connect with him. She decides to try a different approach, one that might bypass his sensory overload. "Plankton," she says softly, "Can you tell me what you're thinking about?" He nods, his hand still moving. "Fan. Spin. Like." Karen's chest tightens, but she nods. "Okay, Plankton. Let's talk about the fan." He nods eagerly, his hand stopping for a brief moment. "Fan," he says, his voice clearer. "Spin fast. Like." Karen takes a deep breath. "What do you like about the fan spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him in a conversation that doesn't trigger his anxiety. Plankton's hand starts moving again, mimicking the fan's rotation. "Spin," he says, his voice still monotone. "Fast. Calm." Karen's eyes widen as she understands. "It calms you?" she asks, her voice tentative. He nods, his gaze finally leaving the fan to meet hers. "Yes," he says, a hint of emotion seeping into his voice. "Calm." Karen's mind races. If the fan's spinning is calming him, maybe there's something here to build on. "Can you tell me more about the calm?" Plankton nods, his hand mimicking the fan's movement. "Inside, quiet," he murmurs, his voice a bit softer. Karen's eyes fill with relief. "It's like white noise, isn't it?" she suggests, desperate to build a bridge between their worlds. Plankton's hand slows, his eye focusing on hers. "It's like white noise isn't it.." Karen nods, hope blossoming in her chest. "Exactly, sweetie. It's like it helps you focus, like it blocks out the chaos." Plankton's hand stops moving, his antennae drooping slightly. "Chaos," he whispers, his eye flicking around the room. Karen nods, her heart aching. "Yes, sometimes the world can be too much, can't it?" Plankton nods, his gaze still unfocused. "Too much," he agrees. "Spinning fan, less chaos." Karen's eyes well up with tears as she realizes the gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I never meant for this to happen." Plankton nods, his gaze still unfocused. "Not Karen's fault," he says, his voice a robotic reassurance. "Invention go boom." Karen's eyes fill with gratitude, clinging to the knowledge that he understands. "I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," she says, wiping at her cheeks. Plankton nods, his hand starting to wave again. "Fan spin. Calm. Like Karen." Karen's heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. Maybe, just maybe, he's still in there somewhere. "You know, sweetie," she says, her voice quivering with hope, "sometimes people have different ways of seeing things. Like you and the fan. That's your special way of finding peace." Plankton nods, his gaze finally leaving the fan to focus on her. "Special," he repeats. "Plankton special." Karen smiles through her tears. "Yes, you are," she says, squeezing his hand gently. "And we'll figure this out together." Plankton nods, his hand still moving. "Together," he echoes.

NEW REALITY vi (Autistic author) "Plankton," she starts, her voice tentative. "Can we try something?" He nods, his eye still searching. Karen reaches over to the bedside drawer, pulling out a small, soft blanket. "This is called a weighted blanket," she explains, unfolding it gently. "It's like a hug from me without the pressure." Plankton's gaze flickers with curiosity. He nods slowly, allowing her to place it over his body, his eye closed as he feels the comforting weight. "It's good," he murmurs, his voice a mix of wonder and fatigue. Karen's heart lifts, a tiny victory in the face of the unknown. "It's like a hug," she says, smoothing the blanket over him. "It helps some people feel safe and calm." Plankton nods, his body relaxing into the embrace of the weighted fabric. Karen's eyes fill with relief as she watches his tension melt away. "Does it feel better?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his eye still closed. "Calm," he whispers. Encouraged, Karen pulls the blanket tighter, mimicking a gentle squeeze. "Good?" she asks, her voice a soft query. Plankton nods, a smile ghosting over his lips. "Good," he agrees, his voice a faint whisper. Karen's heart skips a beat. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soothing melody. "I'll always be here to help you find your calm." Plankton nods, his eye still shut. "Calm," he whispers, his body sinking deeper into the blanket's embrace. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches him. She's found a way to connect, a way to bring him comfort in a world that's become too much for him. The weight of the blanket seems to anchor him, still the storm in his mind. "I'll get us through this," she whispers, her voice filled with resolve. "We're a team." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a sign of his agreement. "Team," he murmurs, his breathing evening out beneath the blanket. Karen's eyes shine with hope. "Yes, we're a team," she repeats, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Now, try to get some sleep." Plankton nods, his hand reaching up to trace the edge of the blanket. "Sleep," he murmurs. Karen watches him for a moment longer, then stands slowly, not wanting to disturb his fragile peace. She moves to the door, her hand on the knob. "I'll be right outside if you need me," she says softly. Plankton nods, his hand still tracing the blanket. "Karen," he whispers. Her heart squeezes. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "I'll be right here." With one last look at him, she steps into the hallway, closing the door behind her. The house feels eerie in its quiet, the weight of the silence pressing down. Her thoughts race, her mind a whirlwind of fears and uncertainty. How do you navigate a world that's suddenly become so overwhelming for someone you love? Karen leans against the closed door, her eyes brimming with tears. She can't bear to leave him alone, but he needs rest. With a heavy sigh, she forces herself to step away, determined to give him the space he needs to adjust.

NEW REALITY ii (Autistic author) He points to the fan again, his finger trembling slightly. "Fan. Spin." The words come out in a staccato rhythm, each syllable a separate entity. "It's okay," she tells him, her voice shaky. Karen tries to distract him, pointing to various items around the room. "Look, Plankton, that's our picture from our wedding day." She shows him the small, framed photograph on the nightstand. His eye flits to it for a second, then back to the fan. "Picture. 31 July 1999," he says, but his voice lacks emotion, as if he's simply reciting words from a dictionary. "Do you remember the day?" she asks, her voice hopeful. He nods, his gaze still glued to the spinning blades. "Wedding. Married to Karen. Happy day." The words come out like a rehearsed script, and the joy that should have filled his voice is painfully absent. Karen's heart aches. This isn't the Plankton she knows, the one who would tease her mercilessly or whisper sweet nothings when no one was around. This is a stranger, trapped in a body that's only familiar because of the memories it holds. She decides to keep talking, hoping that something will spark a memory, a connection. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle but firm, "I noticed you're interested in the fan.." "Fan," he repeats, nodding his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Spinning. Fast." Karen tries to hide her concern. "Do you like it?" she asks, her voice a careful balance of casual and hopeful. "Like?" Plankton echoes, his eye still transfixed by the fan. He seems to think for a moment, then nods. "Yes. Like. Spinning." Karen tries to smile, but it feels forced. "Okay," she says, swiping at a tear that escapes. "Let's talk about something else." Plankton's gaze finally breaks from the fan and lands on her, his expression unreadable. "Else," he repeats, as if trying to grasp the concept of something other than the fan. Karen's mind races, desperately searching for a topic that might draw him out of his fugue. "Remember SpongeBob?" she asks, thinking of their shared friend and his successful rival. Plankton's face twitches, a glimmer of something resembling recognition flickering across his features. "SpongeBob," he murmurs, his eye focusing on a spot just over her shoulder. "Yes," Karen encourages, feeling a flicker of hope. "You two are always trying to outdo each other." But Plankton doesn't react. Instead, his hands start to wave slightly, a rhythmic movement that seems to soothe him. Karen's heart sinks. "What are you doing?" she asks, trying to keep the worry from creeping into her tone. Plankton's antennae twitch as he continues to move his hands. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft and comforting. "You're just a bit out of it. You'll be okay." But Plankton doesn't respond. His hands keep moving in the same pattern, his eye on the wall. Karen's stomach churns. This isn't just dizziness. This is something else. Panic starts to set in as Karen realizes she might not have her husband back. "Plankton," she says, her voice trembling. "Look at me." Slowly, his eye shifts from the wall to her face, and for a moment, she sees a flicker of the man she loves. "Karen," he says, his voice a bit more present, but his movements still erratic. She can't ignore the fear that's building in her chest. "What happened to you?" she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. Plankton's hand stops mid-wave. "What Karen meant?" he asks, his tone devoid of any understanding. Karen's throat tightens. "It's just... you're acting a little different, that's all," she says, desperately trying to keep her voice calm. Plankton's movements become more erratic, his hands flapping in an unnerving rhythm. "Different?" he repeats, his eye darting around the room. "No, Plankton." Karen tries to calm him down, her heart racing as she searches for a way to explain without upsetting him. "I just meant, you're not quite yourself today." Plankton's movements slow, his hands stilling in his lap. "Self?" he questions, his voice a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Plankton self, Karen." Karen nods, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Yes, yourself. You know, your personality, your... your quirks." She tries to laugh, but it comes out forced. Plankton's eye narrows, his expression unreadable. "Quirks?" he repeats. "Plankton has quirks.." Karen nods, her smile strained. "Everyone does, honey. It's what makes us who we are." Plankton seems to ponder this, his hand resuming its wave-like motion. "Plankton, self," he murmurs, his gaze returning to the fan. "Spin. Fast. Like." Karen watches him, her heart heavy with unshed tears. She doesn't know what to make of his behavior. Could he really be okay? Maybe this is just a phase, a side effect of the explosion. She clings to the thought like a lifeline, not ready to face any alternative. "Let's get you some water," she says, forcing a smile. Plankton nods, his eye still on the fan. As she moves to the kitchen, she tries to convince herself that he'll be fine, that this is just a temporary setback. But the way he's acting, so detached and disconnected, it's not like him at all. The kitchen is a blur as she fills a glass with water, her mind racing with questions. What do they do now? How do they get through this? She carries the water back to the bedroom, her hand shaking slightly. Plankton hasn't moved, still staring at the fan. She sets the glass on the nightstand, his eye never leaving the spinning blades. "Here you go," she says, offering the water with a trembling smile. He takes it, his movements precise but mechanical, and brings it to his mouth. As he drinks, Karen watches his every move, looking for any sign of the man she loves beneath the surface of this new, strange behavior. "Thanks," he says, his voice devoid of its usual sass. He sets the glass down, his gaze returning to the fan. Karen tries focusing instead on the way the light dances off the beads of water on his antennae.

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.

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.

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 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.

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES viii With the nurse's help, they manage to get Plankton into the car. Karen buckles him in, his eye opening briefly before dropping shut again. His snores fill the car as she starts the engine. She glances at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, and laughs. "You can sleep when we get home, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with affectionate amusement. But Plankton's snores are a steady beat, his body swaying slightly with the car's movement. His head tips back. Karen smiles, reaching over to adjust his seatbelt, making sure it's snug but not too tight. She kisses his forehead, her laughter a soft sound in the quiet car. "You're such a goofball," she murmurs. But Plankton's eye won't open, his snores gentle. His head rolls against the headrest, his mouth hanging slightly open. Karen shakes him gently. "Wake up, babe," she whispers, her voice a soft laugh. "We're going home." She says as she drove out of the parking lot. But Plankton's only response is a snort, his snores continuing. His head lolls to the side, his mouth open, a thin line of drool connecting his lip to his chin. Karen's smile widens, a mixture of affection and exasperation. She reaches over with a napkin to wipe his mouth gently. "You're such a sleepyhead," she whispers, his snores the only reply. The car's engine purrs as they pull onto the street. Plankton's snores crescendo into a gentle snort, his body jolting slightly in the seat. But sleep wins again, his head drooping to the side. Karen's eyes dart between the road and Plankton's sleeping form. His snores are a soft comforting background noise. Plankton's head tips to the side, his mouth drooping open. A thin line of drool forms, and Karen quickly darts a napkin to catch it. She giggles softly to herself, his peacefulness a stark contrast to his usual frenetic energy. "You're going to wake up in a puddle of drool," she whispers, her voice filled with amusement. But Plankton's snores are a sweet lullaby, unchanged by her words. His body sags into the car seat, his chest rising and falling with each deep, sleepy breath. As they hit a bump in the road, his head jolts up, his eye half-open. "Wha... wha..." he mumbles, his voice a thick slur. But the moment passes, and his head lolls back again, snores picking up where they left off. Karen's laughter fills the car, her hand reaching over to stroke his antennae gently. "You're such a mess," she whispers, her voice a mix of love and amusement. "But you're my mess." Plankton's snores are the only reply, his head bobbing with the car's movement. Karen watches him sleep, his mouth slightly open, drool glistening in the soft light from the dashboard. Each time she looks over, his snores crescendo, and she can't help but smile. "Sleepy Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love. They arrive home, the car's engine silenced in the quiet neighborhood. Plankton's snores continue, unbothered by the change in scenery. Karen shifts into park, turning to look at him. His snores are a soft whisper in the quiet car, his body still. His head tips to the side, his mouth open slightly, drool pooling on his chin. "Home," she whispers, her voice a gentle wake-up call. But his snores are unbroken, his body remaining slack. With a sigh, she opens his door, her arm slipping under his to support his weight. "Wake up, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft nudge. "We're home." But Plankton's snores are the only answer, his body unmoving. Karen shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She carefully lifts him, his legs swinging like a ragdoll's. "Wake up," she whispers, her laughter a soft caress. "We're inside." Plankton's snores pause briefly, his eye flickering open before shutting again. "Home," he mumbles, his voice barely audible. Karen chuckles, her strength carrying his weight. "You can sleep all you want in bed," she promises, his snores the only answer. They stumble into the hallway, Plankton's snores bouncing off the walls. She guides him to the couch, his legs giving out with a thump. "Come on," she whispers, laughing. "Bedtime." But Plankton's eye is closed, his snores a soft whisper. He slumps against the couch cushions, his body unyielding. Karen sighs, her smile filled with affection. "You're so stubborn," she says, her voice a gentle scold. With a grunt, she shifts his weight, his head rolling to the side. "Wake up," she whispers, a hint of laughter in her voice. But Plankton's snores are a sweet testament to his deep slumber. "We're almost there," she whispers, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body is a deadweight, his snores echoing through the quiet house. With a soft chuckle, Karen shifts him into a standing position, his snores hitching for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm. "Walk, Plankton," she whispers, guiding his sleepy steps. But his body sags again, his head rolling back with a snore. "Come on, sweetie," she says, her voice a blend of amusement and persistence. Karen's heart swells with love for his adorable state. She manages to carry him to their bedroom, his snores a gentle reminder of his deep sleep. She eases him onto his bed, his body falling into the soft embrace of the mattress with a final, heavy snort. Karen props his head with pillows, his mouth still open. She wipes the drool from his chin with the napkin, her touch gentle and loving. "You're home," she whispers, his snores the only response. Her eyes scan his face, his features relaxed in sleep. With a soft sigh, she tucks the blanket around him. "Rest well, my love," she says, kissing his forehead. Plankton wakes up the next morning, finding himself in his own bed after his appointment for wisdom teeth removal. The anesthesia worn off overnight. He looks around, his head feeling light and his mouth feeling... strange. He touches his cheeks gingerly with his fingers, feeling the absence of his teeth. "What happened?" he mumbles, his voice groggy with sleep. Last thing he remembers is the dentist's chair and Karen's soothing whispers. Karen walks in, her smile bright. "You're awake," she says, her voice a soft caress. "How do you feel?" Plankton's hand moves to his swollen mouth, his eyes wide with surprise. "What... how'd I get here?" he slurs, his speech still thick with sleep. Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You fell asleep at the dentist's and I brought you home," she explains, her voice filled with humor. "Do you remember the surgery?" Plankton's eye widen, his brain foggy with recollection. "I... I think so," he mumbles, his hand still cupping his cheek. "I recall the chair... and your voice..." Karen nods, her smile warm. "You were pretty out of it," she says, her voice a gentle tease. "But you're all healed now."

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip's never felt so close to his dad, not even when they used to build sandcastles on the beach. Plankton's antennae tickle his neck, a gentle reminder of the trust that's been slowly building between them. The snores are a comforting background to the quiet evening. "Can I sleep out here, next to Dad?" Chip asks. Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course," she whispers, her voice a soft caress in the darkness. "Just be careful not to disturb him. Let's get you both set up." They work together, moving pillows and blankets, careful not to jostle Plankton. Chip watches as his mother gently lifts his father's head, placing it gently on his own pillow as Chip stands up. They move a soft foot bench for Chip to sleep on next to Plankton. Karen pulls a blanket over both of them, tucking it around them both. Chip's heart races with excitement, his mind racing with the newfound connection. He lies down on the foot bench, his body tense with anticipation. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he shifts, but he doesn't stir. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her gaze a gentle reminder of the night ahead. "Remember," she whispers. "Don't move too much. He needs his space." Chip nods, his eyes filled with understanding. He watches as Karen disappears upstairs, the light flickering before going out. The room is a canvas of shadows, Plankton's snores a soft metronome. He lies still, his mind whirling with thoughts. It's strange, feeling his dad's body so close. He's always been the one to move away, the one to hide. But here he is, sleeping. The room is quiet, save for Plankton's snores. Chip swallows, his heart thumping. He reaches out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He's never felt so nervous about something so simple. He touches Plankton's antennae, his heart in his throat. They twitch slightly at the contact, but Plankton doesn't wake up. Chip's breath escapes in a silent whoosh. He holds his hand there, his fingertips exploring the softness of his father's antennae. They're so delicate, like tiny whiskers. Plankton's breathing doesn't change. Encouraged, Chip slides his hand further up, his heart racing. He's never felt so close to his dad, not even during those rare moments when Plankton allows a brief hug. His hand comes to rest on Plankton's shoulder, his father's arm lying limp. Plankton's snores hitch for a moment, his antennae twitching erratically. Chip's heart leaps into his throat, but then Plankton relaxes again, his snores resuming their comforting rhythm. Chip's hand remains on his father's shoulder, his mind racing with thoughts of all the times he's wanted to be closer. He's never dared to touch him like this before, afraid of setting off a storm of sensory overload. But now, as Plankton sleeps, his antennae lying still against his head, Chip feels a strange sense of peace. He watches his father's chest rise and fall, his snores a soothing lullaby. He's always been so quick to retreat into his shell, but here, in this quiet moment, he's vulnerable, his defenses down. Chip's hand remains on his father's shoulder, his thumb tracing gentle circles. He wonders if Plankton knows how much he's wanted to connect like this. How much he's longed for the kind of closeness that other kids share with their dads. The antennae on Plankton's head twitch slightly, and Chip holds his breath. But Plankton's snores remain steady, his body relaxed. A smile tugs at the corner of Chip's mouth. He's never felt this level of acceptance from his father, not even during their rare moments of physical contact. He leans closer, his eyes studying Plankton's sleeping face. His father's cheeks are still a bit puffy from the surgery, but there's a peace to his expression that Chip hasn't seen in a long time. His antennae lie still, no longer twitching with pain or irritation. Chip's hand on his shoulder feels like an anchor, a connection he's longed for. He wonders if Plankton's dreams are filled with the colors and shapes of their underwater world, or if he dreams of a place beyond the reef, a place where his inventions come to life. Chip simply watches him sleep, his own eyes drooping with exhaustion. As the night stretches on, the snores become a lullaby, a rhythm that soothes Chip's racing thoughts. He's so close to his dad, closer than he's ever been. The room feels smaller, yet somehow more expansive, like the ocean outside their door. He watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath, his antennae lying still against his forehead. It's strange, seeing his father so vulnerable, so open to the world. In sleep, Plankton's usual defensive posture has melted away, leaving behind a softness that Chip has never seen before. He tentatively reaches out his other hand, his fingers sliding under the blanket to rest lightly on Plankton's hand. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a monumental step forward. Plankton's hand twitches, but doesn't pull away. Chip's breath catches in his throat, his heart racing. He holds his breath, waiting for a reaction. But Plankton's snores remain steady. Chip's heart thumps in his chest. He's never felt this close to his father. It's like they're sharing a secret, a quiet moment of understanding. He squeezes Plankton's hand gently, his thumb tracing the outline of his father's palm. Plankton's antennae twitch again, his hand moving slightly under Chip's. Chip's heart leaps, his eyes widening. Did he feel that? A soft squeeze from Plankton's hand, a silent communication. He squeezes back, his grip gentle. Plankton's snores continue, his hand relaxing into Chip's. The moment stretches, a warm band connecting the two of them. Chip's heart is a caged bird, fluttering with excitement. He's never felt so close to his dad, never thought this was possible. He watches as Plankton's snores deepen, his hand in his father's a silent promise of support. The room is a symphony of quiet moments, each breath a note of peace. Chip's lulled by the steady beat of his father's snores. His eyes drift shut, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts. He dreams of a world where Plankton's antennae don't twitch with fear, where the shutdowns don't steal him away. He dreams of a future where they can share laughter, not just the quiet moments like this. Hours later, Plankton's snores have turned into soft, even breaths. The room is bathed in the gentle glow of early morning, the sun peeking through the curtains. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching as he awakens to a new day. He blinks slowly, his eye adjusting to the light. And then he sees it. Chip's hand, curled around his own, a warm pressure that grounds him. His son's body, curled into the foot bench, his chest rising and falling silently with sleep. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he blinks, his mind foggy with the remnants of sleep. He tries to sit up, to pull away, but his body protests, a dull throb in his cheeks reminding him of the surgery's aftermath. He feels a warmth beside him, his son's hand in his own, a gentle reminder of the night's unexpected intimacy. His heart thumps in his chest, the realization hitting him like a gentle wave. Chip had been there, holding on, a silent support through his slumber. Plankton's antennae quiver, his brain slowly waking up. He's not used to this, to being touched so casually, so openly. It's a foreign sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. He looks down at their joined hands, his son's thumb resting against his palm. He's torn between retreating and embracing the moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. But his son's gentle breaths, the weight of his body against his side... He feels a strange warmth, a feeling he's often chased away. But here, in the quiet pre-dawn light, he lets it in. Plankton's antennae twitch, a quiet acknowledgment of his son's presence. He doesn't pull away, his hand still in Chip's. His mind is a tornado of thoughts, spinning with the realization that he's allowed this unsolicited closeness with Chip. Plankton's heart beats faster, his antennae quivering slightly. He's not used to this, the unexpected warmth, the silent comfort of his son's touch. But as the moments stretch into something more, he finds that he doesn't want to pull away.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xiv (By NeuroFabulous) "What happened?" Plankton asked, his voice scratchy. Chip sat up, the morning light casting a soft glow on his face. "You fell asleep in the car," he said softly. "We didn't want to wake you." Plankton's antennas twitched as he took in his surroundings. The couch felt unusually comfortable, and his body was cocooned in the warmth of the blanket. "Oh," he murmured, his voice still groggy. He felt a twinge of embarrassment. He knew he had been tired, but falling asleep in the car was not something he usually did. And in front of Chip? He realizes that he slept through the night. Plankton felt a twinge of self- consciousness, his antennas drooping slightly. He had always been so careful, so controlled, around his son. But here he was, vulnerable and exposed, his body betraying his usual stoic demeanor. Chip noticed the change in his father's antennas, his heart tugging with emotion. He knew this was a side of Plankton that few people ever saw—his defenses down, his guard momentarily lowered. He took a deep breath, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Dad, it's okay," he said, his voice soft. "We all get tired. You just fell aslee—" "I know what happened," Plankton snapped, his antennas surging with irritation. He swung his legs over the side of the couch, his feet finding the cool tiles of the floor. Chip recoiled slightly, his hands coming up in a placating gesture. "I just meant—" But Plankton was already standing, his antennas rigid with tension. He stumbled slightly, his balance off from sleep. Chip jumped to his feet, reaching out to steady him. "Dad, you okay?" Plankton's antennas flattened against his head, his eye darting around the room. "I'm fine," he said, his voice tight. Chip's heart sank at the familiar defensive tone, but he knew better than to push. "Okay, Dad," he said, his voice soft. "Do you wa-" "I said I'm fine!" Plankton interrupted, his antennas bristling. "Just leave me alone." Chip took a step back, his hands up in a gesture of peace. He didn't know what to say, his mind racing with the fear that he had done something wrong. He watched as Plankton's antennas twitched erratically, his father's body language speaking volumes about his inner turmoil. "Dad," he began, his voice low and soothing. "Yo-" But Plankton was already moving away, his steps unsteady as he went to the room he shares with Karen. Chip followed him in, his heart aching for the man he was still trying to understand. "Dad, can we talk?" Chip asked, his voice gentle. "I just want to make su—" "What is there to talk about?" Plankton's antennas were a blur of agitation. "You saw me at my weakest, what more do you need to know?" Chip felt his heart drop, his hands curling into fists. "Dad, I just wanted to be there for you," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make you feel..." But Plankton was already fumbling with his pillows, his antennas a flurry of anger as Karen sat up in her bed. Chip tries again, going onto Plankton's bed. "Dad, you don't have to be self-conscious with me," Chip said, his voice earnest. "I wa-" Plankton's antennas shot up, his eye flashing. "Don't tell me what I feel!" he snapped. "I said to leave me alone, Chip!" Chip felt the sting of his father's words, but he knew that the anger was a defense mechanism. He took a deep breath, trying to maintain his calm. "I'm sor-" "Just go, Chip," Plankton's voice was exhausted. "Please." Chip felt the rejection like a physical blow, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. He knew he had overstepped a boundary, but he wasn't sure which one. Karen's expression was one of sadness as she watched the exchange from her side of the bed. "What's going on?" Plankton took a deep breath, his antennas still agitated. "Chip just... he saw me fall asleep in the car," he said, his voice gruff. "He's been hovering ever since!" Karen's eyes searched Chip's face, seeing the hurt and confusion. "Chip," she began gently, "your dad's just overwhelmed. He's not used to being so vulnerable in front of you." Chip nodded, his throat tight. "I just saw him sleeping," he said, his voice small. "I didn't... he just woke up, and he-" Karen held up a hand, her gaze compassionate. "It's ok," she said. "Just give him some space." Chip nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's retreating back. But as Chip stood up, his elbow accidentally brushed against one of Plankton's antennas. The reaction was instantaneous— a sharp intake of breath, antennas springing straight up. Chip froze, his heart racing. "I'm sorry," he stuttered, his hand reaching out to apologize. But Plankton's eye had gone wide, his antennas quivering with sensory overload. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, his voice high-pitched and strained. Chip's hand recoiled as if burned, his own eyes wide with shock. "Dad, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "It was an accident, I didn't mean to—" But Plankton was already retreating, his antennas a wild mess of sensory overload. "I said don't touch me!" he repeated, his voice trembling. "Just get out!" Chip stepped back, his hands lifting in the air as if to ward off the accusation. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton was beyond words, his body a live wire of sensory assault. Chip had inadvertently touched a nerve, literally and figuratively. The sudden contact had sent a jolt through his father's system, setting off a storm of sensations that Plankton was desperately trying to contain. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Chip murmured, his eyes wide with concern. He knew he had to respect Plankton's boundaries, especially after all the conversations they'd just had about his condition. He backed away, his hands up in a non- threatening gesture. Karen's voice was calm as she addressed her husband. "Plankton, love, it's okay. It was just an accident. Chip's here to help." Plankton's antennas slowly lowered, his breaths coming in short gasps. "Dad," Chip said gently, his voice tight with worry. "I'm sorry." He took another step back, giving his father the space he so desperately needed. "I wanted to he-" "I know," Plankton's voice was strained, his antennas twitching with the effort to regain control. "I know you meant well, Chip." The room was thick with silence, the tension palpable. Karen rose from the bed, moving towards Plankton with careful steps. "Plankton, let's sit down," she suggested, her voice soothing. He sat down on his bed. But as Chip stepped back, his elbow brushed against the bookshelf, and the carefully arranged books came tumbling down. The thunderous sound echoed through the room, Plankton's antennas shooting straight up in alarm. Not only was it to loud, but the books were all carefully alphabetized, yet now they lay scattered on the floor.

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."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi (By NeuroFabulous) "Could Dad feel anything?" Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "No, sweetie," she says gently. "That's the point of the medicine. He didn't feel anything." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "What's it like when Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice a soft curiosity. Karen's voice is a gentle narrative, her words painting a picture of Plankton's recovery. "He was a bit confused at first," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "But he quickly understood where he was." Chip's eyes are a mirror of his mother's, his curiosity a living entity. "But his mouth?" he asks, his voice a quiet probing. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. "They gave him something to make it numb," she says, her words a gentle explanation. "So he couldn't feel the surgery." Chip's eyes are a swirl of understanding. "What was it like when it was over?" he asks, his voice a whisper of fascination. "Before he awoke from it? After they finished while you waited for him to wake up, what'd his face and mouth look like?" Karen's gaze is a silent answer, her eyes a soft story of the surgery's aftermath. "His cheeks were a bit puffy," she whispers, her voice a gentle narrative of the scene she'd witnessed. "And there was a bit of blood, but the doctors cleaned him up. As he slept, I could see his chest rise and fall, and I knew he was okay." Chip's eyes are wide with interest. "And then?" Karen's voice is a soft narrative, her words painting the picture of Plankton's recovery. "After they took his teeth out, they put in stitches," she says. "And now his mouth needs time to heal." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with images. "Stitches?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fascination and horror. "How'd they put in stitches while he was sleeping?" Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They're very careful," she says, her voice a calm lake. "They use a special thread that dissolves so he doesn't need to come back to have them removed." Chip's eyes are a mix of wonder and concern. "How'd he not bite the dentist?" Karen laughs softly, a warm sound in the quiet room. "They gave him more medicine," she says, her voice a gentle guide. "So his mouth was completely relaxed." Chip's eyes are wide with wonder. "How did it feel to wake up?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent curiosity. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his eye opening to look at his son. "It was... strange," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo of his experience. "Everything was blurry, and my mouth felt funny." Chip nods, his eyes wide with interest. "But it's better now?" he asks, hope coloring his voice. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse affirmation. "It's okay; still healing.." "How about we watch a movie?" Karen suggests, her voice a gentle distraction from the pain. "Something fun, to take your mind off it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his interest piqued despite his discomfort. "The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs. Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes filled with the promise of distraction. "Yeah," she says, getting up to grab the remote. "It's about the underwater world's biggest heist," she says, her voice a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll enjoy it, Chip." Plankton's antennae twitch with slight interest as he sits up more, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip moves closer, his eyes on his father. Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen and Chip sit on either side of him. The movie's sounds fill the room, the images dancing across the television screen. As the film progresses, Plankton's eye grows heavier, his head slowly tilting towards Chip. Chip, lost in the story, feels the slightest pressure against his shoulder. He looks down to see his father's antennae quivering, his head leaning closer. Plankton's body is a silent admission of his exhaustion. He's trying to stay alert, but his eye keeps slipping shut, his antennae drooping slightly. The movie plays on. Chip feels the weight of his father's head, a warmth that spreads through his body. Plankton's antennae are a quiet whisper, his breathing even. Karen's gaze flits from the TV to the two of them, her heart swelling with gratitude. This is progress. Chip feels his dad's antennae brush against his arm, the sensation a soft reminder of his presence. The movie's end credits roll, the room bathed in the soft glow of the TV. Sandy's hand is warm on the remote, turning off the film. Chip then hears a gentle snore against his shoulder, his dad's antennae lying limp beside him. He looks down to see Plankton's eye closed, his head resting heavily. Karen's smile is a quiet celebration. "Looks like he's asleep," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper. Chip's eyes are wide with surprise. "On me?" he asks, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her smile a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispers, her eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "He's just really tired." Chip's heart swells with pride. It's the first time his dad's ever fallen asleep on him, a silent testament to the trust building between them. He carefully shifts his shoulder, making room for Plankton's antennae. Karen's eyes are a gentle nod of understanding. "Let him sleep," she whispers. The room is a soft symphony of Plankton's snores and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Chip watches his father, his expression one of wonder.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT viii (Autistic author) The next day, Karen got up out of bed. Plankton's still asleep. She wondered how she's to wake him with his new sensory sensitivities. Gently, she opened the blinds, letting in the soft morning light. The room was peaceful, the silence only broken by the steady hum of his breathing. She took a moment to just watch his sleeping form, the covers rising and falling with each breath. Karen approached the bed, careful not to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as she reached out to stroke his forehead. He mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, and she smiled sadly. "Good morning, Plankton," she whispered, keeping her voice soft. His eye fluttered open, and he blinked at her, his gaze slightly unfocused. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice groggy. "How are you feeling?" she asked, concern etched on her screen. Plankton blinked a few times, his antennae slowly raising. "Tired," he finally said, his voice raspy. "It's okay," Karen soothed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We'll take it easy today. I told Chip about your new neurodisability.." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he took in her words. "Chip knowing?" he murmured, his eye searching hers. "Yes, sweetie," Karen nodded. "We talked about how we need to be gentler with you now." Plankton's antennae stilled, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, his eye found hers. "Thank... you?" he whispered, the words a gentle caress. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Of course," she said, smiling softly. "We're in this together." It's the first time since the accident that he used an actual pronoun. Plankton's antennae quivered as he absorbed her words. "Together," he echoed, his voice gaining strength. Karen wiped her screen, trying not to let her emotions overwhelm them as Chip came into their room. "Morning, Dad," Chip said, his voice tentative. He had spent the night thinking about his father's condition, his young mind racing with questions. Plankton's antennae twitched, and he offered a small smile. "Chip," he mumbled. Chip cautiously approached the bed, his eyes wide with concern. "You okay, Dad?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "Chip," he murmured. "Chip loves Plankton." Chip climbed up onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. "I love you too, Dad," he said, his voice trembling as he crawled closer to Plankton. Plankton's antennae flinched as Chip approached, his body tensing instinctively. Karen had explained about personal space the night before, but she wasn't sure if he'd remember. "Chip," she said softly, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "Let's not get too close just yet, okay?" Chip nodded, his screen a picture of understanding. He sat at the edge of the bed, giving Plankton enough space. Karen could see the effort it took for him to control his instincts. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the new dynamics, his eye flicking between Karen and Chip. "Space," he murmured, his voice still weak. "I need... space." Karen nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course, Plankton. We'll make sure to give you your space." She reached for Chip's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Remember, buddy, let's not overwhelm Dad." Chip nodded, his eyes serious. He slowly slid off the bed, his movements careful. But as he stood up, his elbow accidentally brushed against Plankton's arm. The reaction was instant. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body jerking away from the touch. "No!" he yelped, his eye widening in discomfort. Karen lurched as she saw Plankton's expression. She had tried to prepare Chip, but it was clear that their new reality was going to be a learning experience for them all. Chip's screen filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. Karen's seeing her son's upset face. "It's okay, Chip," she said quickly. "It's an accident. Let's give Dad some more space, okay?" But Plankton's expression had shifted. His antennae were vibrating rapidly, his eye flashing with anger. "Too much," he snapped, his voice harsher than Karen had ever heard it. "Chip, too much!" Chip's eyes watered, and he took a step back, his hand hovering. "I'm sorry, Dad," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae whipped around, his whole body vibrating with agitation. "Out!" he bellowed, the word exploding from his tiny body. "Chip, go out!" Chip's eyes grew large with shock. He had never heard his dad speak to him like that before. His shoulders slumped, and he turned to leave, his steps slow and heavy. Karen watched her son retreat. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaky. "It's okay, he didn't mean..." But Plankton's anger was palpable. "No!" he shouted, his eye flashing. "Chip, no more!" His voice was loud, a stark contrast to the gentle whispers of their previous interactions. Chip hovers by the door. "Dad, I di-" "OUT!" Plankton's shout reverberated through the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. His body was rigid with tension, his antennae quivering angrily. Karen felt a pang of fear and sadness seeing her husband like this. But Chip wants to reconcile with his father. Chip looked back, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Dad, ca--" "OUT!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap in the stillness of the room. Chip flinched, his small body visibly trembling. "Dad," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "Can't you li—" "OUT!" Plankton shouted, his antennae whipping around like tiny storm clouds. Karen saw the fear in Chip and knew she had to intervene. "Chip, go to your room," she said firmly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Let's give Dad some time to calm down." Chip nodded. With one last longing glance at Plankton, he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xvi (By NeuroFabulous) ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ/ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ⚠︎︎ Karen's eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination as she held onto Plankton. She knew his meltdowns could be intense, but this was uncharted territory. His body was rigid with anger, his antennas flailing as he tried to free himself. "Plankton, you need to calm down," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear. "You're okay." But Plankton's antennas only twitched more erratically, his body thrashing as he tried to break free. "Let me go!" he screamed, his voice hoarse as Karen's grip tightens. Karen only holds on tighter, her love and concern a silent plea as she tries to soothe her husband's erratic movements. "Plankton," she repeats, her voice calm but firm as he flails. "Please ju—" Her words are lost in his growling as he tries to push her away. But Karen is determined, her arms restraining him. "Plankton, love, Chip's gone, and I need you to li—" But Karen's words were lost as Plankton's struggle grew more intense. His antennas whipped back and forth, a visual manifestation of the tempest inside him. Despite her soothing tone, his body thrashed wildly in her embrace. Karen felt her own heart race, worry etched deep in her features as she held on. This was not the gentle, loving Plankton she knew, but a version of him overtaken by his condition—his autism turning the man she loved into a creature of chaos. Plankton fought against her, his body contorting as he tried to escape her arms. His eye was wild. Karen's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with fear and love. She knew this was the autism speaking, not the man she knew. She tightened her grip as he began to throw his weight around. Plankton's antennas slapped against her, his movements unpredictable. "Chip's gone," she said calmly, her eyes locked onto Plankton's, trying to reach the person beneath the rage. "You're safe and so—" But Plankton's struggle intensified, his antennas a whirlwind of agitation. He threw his head back, hitting Karen's chest with a thud that reverberated through the tiny room. Karen winced, her grip never wavering. "Plankton," she said, her voice even, "I'm here for you. Chip's not in here anymo-" Her words were cut off as Plankton's body spasmed, his antennas lashing out and hitting her face. but she didn't release her hold. "I know it's hard," she murmured, "but I need you to be still. Hold still..." Plankton's eye was wild with fear, his antennas a blur as his body thrashed. "Let go!" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion. That's when Karen realizes Plankton's no longer fueled by anger, his movements no longer intentional but rather was involuntary jerks and twitches, as she saw in his eye the fear and panic. She now realized he knew Chip's gone and that since then, he's only been fighting out of terror. Karen realizes in horror that she only made it worse. Her heart clenched tightly in her chest as she recognized the traumatizing impact her restraint might have had on his overwhelmed autistic mind. She then immediately loosens her grip. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking with her own fear and concern, "I'm sorry, I'm so so—" But her apology is lost as Plankton's antennas quiver, his body convulsing in fear. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks—she's not his protector right now, she's his tormentor. Karen's heart breaks as she watches the man she loves recoil from her own touch. She quickly releases him, stepping back to give him space. Plankton's antennas slap against his body as he stumbles backward, his legs giving out. He hits the floor, his antennas spasming as he curls into a ball, his whole body shaking with sobs. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches him, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She had only wanted to help, to be there for him, but instead, she had become his enemy. The fear in his eye was a knife to her soul. She knew the trauma her restraint had caused him, and she wished she could take it all back. "Plankton," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry." She holds out a tentative hand, hoping he'll understand that she's not a threat. But Plankton's antennas don't still, they pulse with fear as he scrambles away from her, his eye wide with terror. "No," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Don't.." The word hangs in the air, a testament to the chasm that's suddenly opened between them. Karen's hand falls to her side, her heart racing. "Plankton, I won't touch you," she says, her voice shaking. "I'm just going to give you some space." Plankton's antennas slowly unfurled from their defensive cringe, his body uncurling from the fetal position. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his eye darting around the room. The chaos from the meltdown had subsided into stillness, but the fear remained. Karen's eyes were red and puffy, her own pain mirroring his. She took a tentative step towards him, her hand outstretched. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not going to touch you, I just want to make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennas quivered, his eye darting to her hand and then back to her screen. He knew her, knew she loved him, but fear had taken hold, twisting his reality into something unrecognizable. With each step she took, his heart hammered in his chest, his body taut with tension. He scooted away, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Karen's eyes searched his, a silent plea for understanding. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the echo of his sobs, "please, let me help." Karen's hand hovered in the space between them, desperate to offer comfort but respecting the invisible boundaries Plankton had drawn. Tears of regret were shed. She wanted to take back her fear-induced restraint, to erase the terror from his face. But she knew it wasn't that simple. So she picked up the books and organized them the way Plankton had them, then cleaning up the remnants of the mess he made. Plankton watched her from his spot on the floor, his antennas still quivering with fear. He knew she was his safety, but the trauma was fresh, the trust fractured. Each movement she made was a potential threat to his sensitive state. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his body still poised to flee. Karen worked quickly and quietly, her movements calculated to cause the least amount of disturbance. The room slowly regained its order, the books back in their proper place, the broken vase cleared away. With each item she picked up, she felt a piece of their relationship mend. Finally, she turned to Plankton, who remained huddled on the floor. Her heart ached at the sight of him—his body still tense, his antennas drooping with exhaustion. "Can I help you up?" she asked gently, her hand extended tentatively. Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, but he didn't move. The fear had not fully abated, but the chaos had dulled to a murmur. He knew his wife was there, a beacon of safety in a world that was still spinning out of control. Karen knelt beside him, her hands hovering just above his shaking body. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe, and I'm sorry," Karen said, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to scare yo-" But Plankton's response was unexpected. A sudden gagging sound erupted from his throat, his antennas twitching erratically. Karen's eyes widened as she saw his face contort in fear and anxiety. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "What's wrong?" Plankton's antennas shot straight up, his body convulsing as he tried to swallow down the panic that was rising in his throat. He was gagging, his eye squeezed shut as if to block out the world around him. Karen's heart skipped a beat as she realized the severity of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice urgent. "Look at me." Plankton's antennas quivered as he opened his eye, his gaze locking onto Karen's. Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of understanding, any glimmer of the man she knew and loved beneath the fear. The gagging subsided, his body still trembling with adrenaline. "I know you're scared," Karen continued, her voice soothing and gentle. "And it's my fault. But I'm here to help." Slowly, Plankton's antennas lowered, his body beginning to relax. He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving hers. Karen moved closer, her hand still outstretched. "Can I?" With a nod, Plankton allowed her to touch him, his antennas still quivering with residual fear. Karen lifted him up gently, her touch feather-light as she guided him to the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been building all night. The room was eerily silent. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm so sorry," she whispered again, her throat tight with emotion. "I should have known better. I just wanted us all to be safe.." Plankton took her hand, putting it on himself in the way he felt like was comfortable. "I'm sorry Karen, but I love you so much. I understand. Thank you, it's the thought that counts.."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xii (Autistic author) Turning back to Plankton, Karen approached the bed slowly, not wanting to startle him. She stood there for a moment, taking in his peaceful form, his antennae still. "Plankton," she whispered, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder. His eye fluttered open, his antennae twitching as he took in the scene before him. "Karen?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly, her face a picture of calm. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he slowly came to consciousness. "Fine," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. "Good," Karen smiled, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Chip has his science fair tonight. Do you think you're up for it?" Plankton's antennae perked up. "Science fair," he repeated, his voice clearing a little. Karen nods. "Yes. Are you ready to go?" Plankton's eye widened with excitement. "Science fair," he said, his voice gaining strength. "Chip's science fair." Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Yes, sweetheart," she smiled. "And we're going to be there for him." Once ready, they left the house, the crisp evening air a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere inside. The walk to Chip's school was quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts. The sight of the school's lights spilling out into the night served as a reminder of the event that awaited them. The science fair was a cacophony of sounds and colors, with excited children dotted around the hall, eagerly explaining their projects to parents and teachers alike. Chip's class was grouped together, and his face lit up when he saw them approach. Plankton's antennae twitched, but his eye was drawn to Chip's proud smile and project. "Welcome to the Annual Science Fair!" The loudspeaker blared, its metallic voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd. Plankton's body stiffened at the sudden noise assault, but was quick to cover his antennas with his hands. "Remember, Plankton," Karen whispered, her voice a soft contrast to the loudspeaker's roar. "Just let me know if it's too much." Plankton nodded, his antennae still covered by his hands, his eye scanning the bustling room. The noise was a symphony of voices and laughter, of beeps and whirs from the various science projects. His heart pounded in his chest, a drum matching the loudspeaker's rhythm. "Find your classmates and have fun!" Karen and Plankton follow Chip to his classmates. "Now students, I see you brought your families with you; now share with a partner and their families, too, about how our class made projects.." The room erupted in a flurry of excited voices, each student eager to share their projects. The cacophony was like a storm of sound, threatening to overwhelm the sensitive Plankton. One of Chip's class partner's moms came up to their family. "Hi, I'm Andreea, Penny's mom," she introduced herself, a smile on her face. "And this is Penny," she said, nudging the tiny octopus beside her. Penny looked shy. Yet meanwhile the talking was like nails on a chalkboard to Plankton. He could feel the echoes of her words bouncing off the walls, reverberating in his skull. The room spun around him, a whirlwind of color and sound. "Hello, I'm Karen," Karen said warmly, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you!" The woman took her hand, her smile widening. "Penny told me Chip's the smartest boy in class," she said, her voice bubbly. "Mother," Penny whispered, her face flushing a deep shade of pink. "Chip's not the only smart one in class," she mumbled. Karen chuckled, squeezing Chip's shoulder. "They're both very bright," she said, her eyes twinkling. Penny's mother laughed unknowingly causing Plankton even further distress. "Oh yes, I'm sure they all are," she said. But Plankton was barely holding on, his head prickling with the sensory assault. Karen felt his body sit, and she turned to him with concern. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise like a knife. But Plankton was unresponsive, his eye glazed over. He wouldn't budge, his body rigid. The noise was a wall he couldn't scale, his senses bombarded. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was a gentle prodding, but he didn't react. The world around him was a chaos of colors and sounds, each more overwhelming than the last. "Plankton, honey?" Karen tried again, her tone a gentle coax. But Plankton was like a statue, his tiny body unyielding. The sounds of the science fair crashed over him. "Plankton?" Karen repeated, her voice filled with worry. Penny and her mom exchanged glances, picking up on the tension. "Is he okay?" she asked, her voice concerned. Chip, too, noticed this absence seizure spell. "He's just overwhelmed," Karen replied, her voice steady despite the worry etched on her face. She took a deep breath, knowing they had to act quickly. She knew this was his body's way of shutting down from the overstimulation. Andreea's smile faded, her eyes filled with concern. "Is there anything we can do?" Karen shook her head, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Just give us a moment, please," she said, her voice tight. "This is part of a condition." Andreea nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "Oh," she said, her voice soft. "Is he alright? I happen to be a nurse," she offered, her eyes filled with concern. Karen's gaze flitted to her, desperation in her eyes. "Could you please help?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Andreea nodded, quickly moving to Plankton's side. "I also work with the school nurse, Vicky, but Vicky's not here today. I do have access to her office; we can watch over him there, while Chip and Penny can go back to the class." With Andreea, Karen carries Plankton. "He fell off a shelf, hitting his head on the floor along with the shelf hitting his head. He's acquired autism." Andreea's eyes widen in understanding. "Come on," she says, leading the way to the nurse's office. "Let's get him someplace quiet." The nurse's office is a haven of calm in the storm of the science fair. The walls are lined with charts and supplies, but it's the soothing silence that envelops them like a warm blanket that Karen finds most comforting. They gently lay Plankton on the examination table, his tiny frame looking vulnerable against the white sheets. Andreea quickly assesses the situation, her nurse instincts kicking in. She listened to his heart. "If anything a little fast, which is understandable," she told Karen. "He's okay?" Karen's voice was tight with fear. Andreea nodded, her movements precise and calm. "He's just having an intense sensory overload. It's not uncommon with this condition." Karen's eyes were filled with gratitude as she watched Andreea work, her professionalism and kindness a balm to her frayed nerves. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'm not sure what to do." Andreea nodded, her hands moving quickly and surely. "It's okay," she said. "My ex girlfriend said her grandaunt had similar issues." She tapped Plankton's cheek gently. "Let's see if we can get you to respond." But Plankton's body remained still. Andreea sighs. "Do you know any specific triggers of his you've noticed?" Karen nods. "Loud noises, sudden movements, and certain touches," she lists off. Andreea nods. "We'll keep it calm and predictable here," she promised, her voice soothing. She dimmed the lights, closed the door, and turned him to face a blank part of the wall. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Look at the wall, okay?" He doesn't respond. Andreea turns to Karen. "Remember, Karen," she said, her voice calm and measured. "Every person with autism is unique. We can't always know what will trigger their overload, but what's crucial is to create an environment that minimizes those triggers." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I know," she whispered. "We're learning." Andreea offered a kind smile. "It's a journey," she said. "But you're already doing so well." She turned to the shelves, pulling out a weighted blanket. "This might help," she said, spreading it over Plankton's legs. Karen watched as Plankton's body relaxed slightly under the blanket's soothing embrace. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes filling with gratitude. Andreea nodded, her eyes kind. "It's important to tailor our approach to each autistic person," she said, her voice gentle. "Everyone's experience is different, but creating a predictable and comfortable environment can help." Karen's hope grew. "Remember," Andreea said, her eyes on Plankton, "it's not about 'fixing' him, but helping him navigate the world." "I know," Karen says, nodding. Plankton began to rouse from his stillness. His eye blinked, the world coming into focus in fragments. And Karen noticed. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice hopeful. His antennae twitched, his eye darting to hers. "Karen," he murmured, his voice groggy. He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the nurse's office. "Where..." Karen's heart skipped a beat, relief flooding her chest. "You're in the school nurse's office," she said, her voice gentle. "You had a little sensory overload at the science fair. Remember?" Plankton blinked, his antennae slowly unfurling from his head. The weight of the blanket grounded him, and the dim lights calmed his racing mind. He nodded, the memory of the noise fading into a distant throb.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xi (Autistic author) Karen stood up. She needed to check on Chip, to make sure he was okay after the scary scene he had witnessed. She stepped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open, listening for any sign of movement from Plankton. The house was quiet, the only sound being the distant thump of Chip's footsteps. She walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. When she reached Chip's room, she found him sitting on his bed, his screen blurry with unshed tears. He looked up as she entered, his eyes wide with worry. "Mom," he said, his voice small. Karen's heart broke anew. She crossed the room and sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his small frame. "Chip," she whispered, "it's okay." Chip leaned into her embrace, his body shaking with sobs. "But Dad...," he choked out. "Dad was so mad at me." Karen's heart was heavy. She stroking his back. "He's not mad at you, Chip," she said, her voice gentle. "His brain is just... different now. He's scared and overwhelmed." Chip sniffled, his shoulders heaving. "But why?" "Because of his autism," Karen explained, her voice soft and steady. "It's like he's experiencing the world with all his senses turned up to max. Sometimes it's too much, and it can make him upset." Chip's sobs grew quieter as he absorbed her words. "But I didn't mean to," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I know, buddy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "And Dad knows you didn't mean to. We all just need to learn how to be more careful with each other." Chip nodded against her shoulder, his body slowly relaxing into her embrace. "I don't want him to be sad," he whispered. Karen kissed his forehead. "I know, Chip. And we'll make sure he isn't. We'll all learn together." They sat in silence for a few more moments, until Chip's sniffles subsided. "Would you like to go see him?" Karen asked, her voice tentative. Chip nodded, his screen wiping away tears. "But I don't want to make Dad mad again," he whispered. "You won't," Karen promised, her voice filled with warmth. "We'll go in together, and I'll be right here with you." They walked back to Plankton's room, their steps measured. Karen pushed the door open carefully, her gaze flicking to the bed. Plankton was still asleep, his snores now a comforting lullaby in the quiet space. Chip's eyes were glued to his dad, his antennae quivering slightly. "Dad?" he whispered. Karen nodded, swiping at her own tears. "Let's just watch him for a moment," she said, guiding Chip to the chair beside the bed. They sat down together, their hands joined. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly in his sleep, and Karen held her breath, fearing he might wake up. But he remained still, his tiny frame nestled under the blanket. "Look, Chip," she whispered, pointing to Plankton's peaceful face. "Dad's sleeping. Let's not wake him up yet." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving his father. "But I want to tell him I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can tell him later," Karen assured, squeezing his hand. "Let's let him rest for now." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "Okay," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "But I'll make it up to him. I've a science fair at school tonight and would like you both to come. I know he enjoys science." Karen's heart swelled with pride and hope. "That's a wonderful idea, Chip," she said, smiling through her tears. "I'm sure your father would love to see your project." They sat in companionable silence for a few moments more before Karen stood up. "Go get ready," she said, gently tugging on Chip's arm. "We have a science fair to attend." Chip's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?" "Yes," Karen nodded, standing up. "We'll all go together and support you." Chip perked up, and he scurried out of the room, eager to get ready for the science fair. Karen watched him go, his enthusiasm a tiny beacon of light in the heavy silence that lingered. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the task ahead.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's gaze searched both of their faces, seeing the tentative connection forming. "Why don't we let Daddy rest now?" she suggested softly, her eyes on Chip. "It's getting to be bedtime. You head to bed, Chip." she said gently. Chip nodded, his hand still hovering over Plankton's. He knew his father needed his space, especially after such an ordeal. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of fear and love. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye still focused on Chip. "Goodnight, buddy," he murmured, his voice exhausted. "I-I-I-I… lo-ove y-you." The words hung in the air, a declaration of his feelings despite his condition. Chip felt his heart swell with a mix of emotion, his hand falling to his side. "I love you too, Dad," he whispered back, his voice trembling slightly. The next morning, Karen hears a ding vibrate on her phone, waking her. She sits up and looks over at Plankton, who's still sleeping. She smiles softly at the sight of her snoring husband, his antennae twitching slightly with each breath. Gently, she slides out of bed, careful not to disturb his rest. She grabs her phone, checking the text. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of the message: "Plankton: Dental Appointment to discuss his latest x-ray. We open in 1 hour." It was from Plankton's dental office. Karen sighed, setting her phone on the nightstand. "Plankton, love," she whispered, carefully shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, we have a dental appointment." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye opening. He took a moment to process the information, his brain slowly coming online. "Dentist?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen nodded, her voice steady. "Yes, honey. We need to talk to the dentist about your latest x-ray." Plankton's antennae twitched. Karen knew that dental appointments were a particularly tough challenge for Plankton due to his sensory sensitivities. With a sigh, Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen could feel the tension in the room, so she took Plankton's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll call Sandy" she said, her voice calm. "She'll look after Chip." Plankton nodded, his antennas still twitching nervously. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Karen quickly dials Sandy's phone number. The phone rings, a distant melody in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae twitched with every ring, his nervousness palpable. "Sandy, it's Karen," Karen's voice was a comforting balm over the line. "Could you possibly watch Chip today? We've got a dental appointment for Plankton, and it's... sudden, I know." Sandy's voice came through the speaker, warm and understanding. "Of course, Karen. Right now? I'll be heading on over!" Karen breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Sandy," she whispered, then hanging up. She went to Chip's room. The light from the hallway spilled into his room, casting long shadows across the floor. Chip stirred in his bed, his eyes blinking open sleepily. "Huh?" he mumbled. Karen's smile was gentle as she leaned over him. "Hey, buddy," she whispered. "Sandy's here to watch you while I take Daddy to a dentist appointment." Chip's eyes widened, his mind still foggy with sleep. "Dentist?" he repeated, sitting up. "Don't worry, Chip," Karen assured him, her voice soft. "You can stay here with Sandy. She'll take good care of you." The sound of the doorbell rang through the house, a sharp, piercing noise that made Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen's eyes darted to his face, but his expression remained stoic. She knew his hearing was sensitive, but she didn't have time to fuss over it now. "It's just Sandy," she assured Plankton with a smile, patting his hand before heading to the door. "It'll be okay, honey." The door opened, and Sandy's cheerful face appeared. "Howdy, Karen!" she chirped, her eyes scanning the room. "Hi, Sandy! I don't know how long we'll be gone but I can keep you updated. It's to review an x-ray from Plankton's last x-ray they said they'd keep an eye on, and they notified us to come in today." Sandy nodded, her smile warm and reassuring. "Don't worry, I've got this. I'll keep Chip busy and entertained," she promised. "But he can also sleep in.." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's okay, love," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "We'll be going now." Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen knew he was scared, but she also knew he'd get through it. "Come on," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Let's go to the car."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xii (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye opening slightly to see the familiar sight of their front door. The house looked warm and welcoming, a haven from the overstimulation of the outside world. He nodded, his antennae drooping. "Home," he murmured, his voice still slurred. Karen helped him out of the car, his legs wobbly under the weight of his still-sluggish body. The fresh air was a shock to his sensitive system, his antennae quivering at the sudden change. "Come on," she urged gently, her arm around his waist. "Let's get you inside." Plankton leaned heavily on Karen as they made their way up the path to the house. The brightness of the sun was almost painful, his eye squinting against the light. "I'm shorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "Soo tired..." Karen chuckled softly, her arm tightening around him. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle breeze. "You can sleep as soon as we..." But her words were lost as his antennae drooped, his body giving in to the siren call of sleep. His eyelid fluttered closed, his head lolling forward. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a gentle nudge. But his body was heavy, his antennae still. With a sigh, Karen picked him up, cradling him against her chest. His antennae twitched slightly at the sudden motion, his eye opening to slits. "Wha..." he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "You're okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're going inside." Her arms were strong, her movements slow and steady, carrying his weight with ease. The world outside faded away, replaced by the warmth and comfort of their home. Inside, Sandy and Chip played chess, the only other sounds the soft footsteps of Karen's feet and Plankton's muffled snores. Sandy looked up as Karen carried in the sleeping Plankton, his antennae drooping like wilted flowers. "How's he doing?" she asked, her voice low. Karen nodded. "The surgery went well," she murmured. "But he's still out of it." Chip looked up from his chess board, his eyes wide as his mom carried his dad. Sandy quickly set aside the chess pieces and rushed to help. Karen set him on the couch, his antennae brushing the fabric as he was laid down. "Just rest here for a moment," she murmured, her hand smoothing his antennae. Chip watched, his curiosity piqued by his dad's vulnerable state. "Is he okay?" he whispered, his eyes searching Karen's face for answers. "He's fine," she assured him, her voice soft. "He's just really tired from the surgery. The anesthesia makes it hard for his brain to stay awake." Chip nodded, watching as Karen tucked a blanket around Plankton's form, her movements gentle and careful. "Why does Dad snore?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "It's just his body's way of getting the air it needs," Karen explained, her voice a soft mumble. The living room was bathed in dim light, the curtains drawn to keep the world at bay. Plankton's snores grew louder, his antennae twitching with each inhale. Sandy's filled with concern. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Help with Chip?" Karen's smile was filled with gratitude. "That would be amazing," she murmured. "I need to keep an eye on Plankton." She gestured to the sleeping form on the couch. Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course," she said. "I'll watch Chip." Her voice was a gentle whisper, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that had descended upon the house. With Plankton safely on the couch, Karen turned to face Sandy. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of the day's events. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Sandy waved a dismissive hand. "It's what friends are for," she said, her smile soft. "Now, go take care of Plankton. I've got this." Karen nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. She knew she could trust Sandy with Chip, especially in a time like this. She bent over Plankton, her hand brushing his antennae gently. "Rest," she whispered, her voice a soothing caress. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his sleep-laden eye sliding open. The room spun around him, the edges soft and fuzzy. "Karen?" he mumbled, his voice thick with slumber. Karen's face appeared above him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You're okay, Plankton," she whispered, her hand stroking his antennae gently. "You're safe." The words washed over him like a gentle wave, the warmth of her voice seeping into his bones. His antennae quivered slightly, his eyelid flickering. The room spun, his body heavy and sluggish. "Home," he murmured, his voice a sleepy echo of his earlier sentiment. Karen's smile grew, her eyes soft with affection. "Yes, we're home," she said, her voice a lullaby. "You can rest now." Plankton let out a contented sigh, his antennas drooping with exhaustion. The gentle stroking of Karen's hand on his antennae was the last thing he felt before his mind slipped fully into the abyss of sleep. His snores grew deep and even, his body finally at peace.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xi (By NeuroFabulous) Karen watched, her hand tightly gripping his, her breath shallow, as the surgeon worked with a precision that could only come from years of practice. Plankton remained still under the anesthesia, his antennae completely at ease. Rachel, the hygienist, hovered nearby, her eyes always on Plankton, ready to assist if needed. The surgery felt like eternity, but it was over sooner than she had feared. Plankton's antennae remained still, his breathing deep and even. Dr. McSquinty finished the last stitch, his tentacles moving with a sureness that was almost hypnotic. "We're all done," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. Dr. McSquinty's tentacles moved quickly and deftly, his focus on the task at hand. Karen watched as the surgeon's tentacles gently placed the gauze into Plankton's mouth. The room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart rate monitor and the slight snores from Plankton's relaxed form. Rachel, the hygienist, checked the gauze's placement, her eyes meeting Karen's. She nodded, her expression serene. Karen takes a picture and sends it to Sandy. "He's doing well," Rachel whispered, her eyes on the monitor. "His vitals are all normal." Karen nods, her throat tight. "Thank you," she murmurs. Plankton's antennae lay still, his chest rising and falling evenly. The anesthesia had worked its magic, his mind now free from the storm of sensory input that had once threatened to consume him. Karen watched as Dr. McSquinty removes the Iv, but Plankton was oblivious, his sleep deep and peaceful. The anesthesia had done its job, and Rachel, the hygienist, remained there to wake him. "Plankton, Plankton," Rachel's voice was a lullaby, her hand light on his shoulder. His antennae twitched slightly, his eye flickering open. "You're all done, sweetheart," she murmured. Plankton blinked, his gaze unfocused. The room was dim, his mouth feeling peculiar. "Whath's happen'd?" he mumbled, his voice slurred. Karen's screen swam into view, her smile a beacon in the fog of confusion. "You had your wisdom teeth out," she said gently, her hand still in his. "You're okay, Plankton." Her voice was a balm to his fuzzy mind. His antennae twitched slightly, trying to process the information. Plankton's gaze flickered around the room, the shapes and sounds familiar yet foreign. He felt groggy, his body weighted down by the anesthesia. Rachel smiles. "You'll be tired and a little numb for today Mr. Plankton, but you can nap once Karen takes you home!" Karen's eyes searched his, their depths filled with love and concern. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice low and gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze unfocused. "Tiwed," he murmured, his voice slurred by the aftereffects of the anesthesia. "But... it's done?" Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "Yes, it's done," she said, her voice a soothing lilt. "You're so brave." Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he tried to sit up, his body protesting the sudden movement. Karen's hand was a steady anchor, helping to ground him in reality. The world spun for a moment, but soon the fog began to clear. "Easy," she murmured, her voice a lifeline in the haze. "Take your time, Plankton." Her eyes searched his, looking for signs of distress. His antennae drooped slightly, his gaze drifting to the ceiling above. The lights were dimmer now, the sounds of the office muffled. With Rachel's help, they managed to get Plankton to his feet, his legs wobbly. Karen wrapped an arm around his waist, supporting him as they made their way out. "We'll take it slow," she murmured, her voice gentle. His antennas twitched in sleepy agreement, his eye half-lidded. The world felt thick and slow, each step an effort. The pain in his mouth was distant, muffled by the fog of anesthesia. Plankton leaned into Karen, his antennae drooping with grogginess. The gentle pressure of her arm around his waist was the only thing keeping him upright. They moved through the office, his sluggish steps echoing in the silence. Rachel held the door open for them, her smile warm. "Take care of him, he'll be sleepy," she said, her voice soft. Karen nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. The cool air outside was a sharp contrast to the sterile environment of the dental office. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he took in the world around him, his senses still dulled by the lingering anesthesia. Karen's arm remained steadfast around his waist, guiding him through the parking lot. The sound of gravel crunching underfoot was oddly soothing, his mind still fuzzy from the remaining effects of the surgery. The car was a familiar sanctuary, and Plankton collapsed into the passenger seat with a sigh, his antennae drooping. Karen buckled him in with gentle care, her eyes searching his for any signs of pain or discomfort. "Alright, love," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "We're going to get you home, and you can sleep it off." Her hand rested on his shoulder, her eyes on his sleepy gaze. But Plankton's eye kept drooping, his antennae quivering with the effort to stay conscious. "Karen," he slurred, his voice barely audible. "I'm... I'm tiwed." "I know, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "You just had surgery. You need to rest. Now let's get home!" But Plankton's body had other ideas. His eyelid fluttered closed, his antennae barely twitching. Karen chuckled softly, her heart swelling with affection. "You can sleep in the car," she assured him. "But try to stay awake for a little while longer." Plankton's antennae shot up with a valiant effort to comply, his eye opening wide for a moment. But the warmth of the car and the gentle hum of the engine were too much for him to resist. Within seconds, his head was lolling to the side, his antennae drooping in defeat. "Plankton," Karen whispered, her voice a gentle prod. His antennae twitched, his eye fluttering open. "Stay with me, okay?" Her smile was tired but filled with love. He nodded, his antennae drooping again. "M'trying," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Karen chuckled softly, starting the car. The engine's hum was lulling, the vibrations soothing to his overwhelmed senses. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Plankton's antennae twitched, trying to keep alert. But the warmth of the car and the gentle sway of the seat were too much. His eye closed again, his head lolling back against the headrest. Karen's voice was a steady companion, her words a gentle reminder of reality. "Stay with me, Plankton," she said, her tone filled with love. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye sliding open with difficulty. "M'trying," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. The car's gentle rocking lulled him back into slumber, his antennae drooping against the headrest. Karen's voice was a soft melody, her words a gentle nudge to stay conscious. "Wake up, Plankton," she whispered. "We're going home, and you can sleep there." With each word, his antennae wobbled in protest, his eye fighting to stay open. "Mm," he mumbled, his voice a sleepy whisper. "Home." He was so tired, his body begging for rest. Karen's voice was a gentle reminder of the world outside his sleep-filled haze. "We're almost there, Plankton," she soothed, her eyes never leaving the road. "Just stay with me a little longer." But the siren call of sleep was too strong. His antennae twitched one last time before going still, his breathing evening out as he gave in to the warm embrace of unconsciousness. Karen watched him with a mix of concern and affection, his peaceful expression a stark contrast to the fear from before. "Looks like you've had enough," she whispered to herself, a hint of a smile playing on her screen. She drove with care, his head leaning against the window, the soft snores echoing in the quiet car. The scenery outside the window was a blur, the world moving too fast for his sleep-laden brain to process. Each bump in the road jolted him slightly, his antennae twitching in protest. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen said, keeping her voice low and calm. He stirred, his antennae perking up slightly. "We're almost there." But the lure of sleep was powerful, pulling him back into its embrace. His antennae drooped, his breaths growing even deeper. "Mmph," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the gauze still in his mouth. "Just a few more minutes, Plankton," Karen coaxed, her voice soft. The car's gentle motion was hypnotic, each turn and bump in the road a siren's song to his weary mind. "You can sleep when we get home." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye fluttering open. He nodded slightly, his head lolling to the side. "M'trying," he murmured, his voice barely audible. The anesthesia still had a firm grip on his consciousness, his body craving the oblivion of sleep. Karen's hand remained steady on his shoulder, her voice a gentle coaxing. "Look, Plankton," she said, her tone soft. "We're almost home. Stay with me." The world outside was a blur of colors and shapes, each passing tree and building just another obstacle in his battle against the dragging weight of sleep. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, his eye trying to focus. "Mmhmm," he mumbled, his voice thick with grogginess. Karen's gentle voice was his tether to reality, her soothing words a lullaby guiding him through the hazy fog of anesthesia. "You're doing so well, Plankton," she murmured, her grip on his shoulder firm yet comforting. "Almost there, buddy." Plankton's antennae twitched in response, his eye opening briefly to meet hers. He nodded, the effort to stay awake etched on his face. The world outside the car was a blur of greens and blues, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. His body felt heavy, each breath a struggle against the weight of his eyelid. "Look, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a whisper in the quiet car. "We're home."

CHIP IN MY BOX viii (Autistic author) The room is quiet as they wait for Plankton to stir. Chip's mind is racing. Suddenly, Plankton's body twitches, a small movement under the velvet shroud. Karen's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with anticipation. Her heart is a wild animal in her chest, thumping against her ribs as she watches her husband slowly come back to them. Under the curtain, Plankton's eye opens slightly, the pupil dilated with confusion. His limbs move sluggishly, his mind trying to make sense of the world that's rushing back in. Karen's hand reaches out to his, her eyes brimming with relief and fear. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze in the quiet room. "You're safe." "Wh... wha... whale...?" Plankton's voice slurs, his eye flickering behind the velvet curtain. Karen's grip on her son's hand tightens as she watches her husband struggle to find his footing in the murky waters of consciousness. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his confusion. "You're home, you're safe." Plankton's eye blinks, his brain trying to piece together the shards of reality. "Whale?" He mumbles again, his voice slurred with sleep. Karen's heart squeezes, her hand still in Plankton's, her voice even softer now. "No, honey, it's not a whale," she says, forcing a gentle laugh. "It's me, Karen. You're at home." Her words are a soft caress, a beacon in the fog of his sensory overload. Chip watches, his eyes wide with fear and hope. He wants to call out, to tell his dad everything's okay, but he remembers Dr. Kelp's instructions. He stays quiet, his hand tightening around the new fidgets, his knuckles white with tension. Plankton's mumbling becomes more pronounced, his eye darting around under the velvet cover, as if searching for something he can't quite see. "Bubble...box," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to keep up with his scattered thoughts. She knows his brain is trying to make sense of the world, to find the familiar in the chaos. "A box is here," she whispers, her voice soothing. "It's new, and right beside you." Her words seem to resonate somewhere in the fog of Plankton's mind. His hand twitches, reaching out. Chip's breath hitches as he sees his father's hand hover over the new box of sensory items. "Bubblebox," Plankton murmurs, his voice a soft breeze through the room. The words are meaningless, but the tone conveys a desperate search. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she nods. "It's here," she whispers, guiding his hand to the box. His fingers graze the velvet curtain, his movements clumsy and unsure. Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his father's hand trembles over the box's edge. "Bubba," Plankton says, his voice a whisper of confusion. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, her heart breaking at his distress. She tries to think of something to say, to bring him back to them fully. But she knows better than to push too hard. Plankton's eye blinks rapidly, his hand fumbling with the box's contents. "Fishy," he mumbles, his voice a disjointed symphony of half-thoughts. "Fishy, fishy." Karen's heart squeezes. He's talking to his mind, she knows, to the jumble of thoughts that have overtaken his reality. The words are nonsense, a random assortment of sounds. "Fishy?" He murmurs again, his hand patting the floor. "Fishy, bubblebox." His voice trails off, lost in the fog of his own thoughts. Karen's heart is racing, her mind trying to decode his ramblings. She knows his mind is searching, trying to find the safety net of his sensory world. "Yes, honey," she whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're okay." Plankton's eye rolls back into his head, his body going slack again. The silence in the room is deafening, a stark contrast to the tumult inside her. Karen's hand is a tremor against his, willing him back to reality. Chip watches, his own thoughts racing, as his mother's eyes dart to Dr. Kelp for guidance. The doctor's tentacles move with a quiet assurance, placing more items around Plankton. "It's normal," he whispers, his voice a lifeline in the storm of their fear. "His mind is trying to find his bearings." "Where's," he mumbles, his voice a distant whisper. "So... many... Karen..." His antennae twitch erratically, his hand flailing in the air as if trying to catch invisible orbs. Karen's heart is in her throat, her eyes brimming with tears as she watches his struggle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft caress, reaching for his hand. "You're safe." Her eyes plead with Dr. Kelp, desperation etched in her features. The doctor nods reassuringly, his tentacles moving with a gentle rhythm. "We're home." Plankton's eye moves beneath the velvet, searching for familiarity. "Home?" He whispers, his voice scratchy from disuse. "Where am I?" The fear in his tone makes Karen's heart ache. "You're home, Plankton," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Her words are a gentle reminder, a beacon in the storm of his senses.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xv (By NeuroFabulous) The sudden chaos was too much for Plankton to bear. Karen and Chip watched in horror as Plankton's anger transformed into something beyond mere irritation—it was a full-blown meltdown. With a roar of frustration, Plankton swept his arms across the bedside table, sending the lamp and various knick-knacks crashing to the floor. Chip's eyes widened as he took in the destruction, his heart racing with fear and confusion. "Dad, no!" he shouted, rushing forward to intervene, but Karen's hand on his shoulder held him back. "Let me," she murmured, her eyes on Plankton, who was now on his knees, his antennas quivering with rage as he grabbed at the blanket, tearing it from the bed. Karen approached Plankton slowly, speaking in a calm, soothing tone. "Plankton, love," she said, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of his distress. "It's okay. It's just a mess, which can be easily fi-" But her words were drowned out by the crash of a vase smashing against the wall. Chip felt a pang of fear and helplessness as he watched his father. Plankton's rage was a living entity in the room, his antennas a blur of motion. Everything he touched, everything he saw, seemed to fuel his fury. With each crash and shatter, Chip felt his heart break a little more. He'd never seen his dad like this—so out of control, so overwhelmed. Karen's calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the chaos. "Dad, please stop," Chip pleaded, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." But Plankton was beyond words, his autistic mind overwhelmed by the sensory assault. The now messy books hitting the floor had triggered a storm of emotions, each one more intense than the last. He had always managed to keep his meltdowns in check around Chip, but tonight, the dam had broken. Karen moved closer, her hands outstretched. "Plankton," she said calmly, "It's okay. Just breathe." But Plankton's eye was wild, his antennas a blur of overstimulation. He didn't heed her; he saw only the chaos that Chip had unwittingly unleashed. The room spun around him, a whirlwind of sounds and sensations that he couldn't escape. Karen knew the signs, having seen this before. With a gentle touch, she managed to get Plankton to look at her. "Look at me," she whispered, her voice steady. "Just focus on my voice." Slowly, the storm in Plankton's antennas began to subside. His breathing was still ragged, but he was no longer thrashing. Chip stood there, his body tense, his eyes fixed on the shambles of the room. He felt a mix of guilt and fear, his mind racing with what to do. Karen's voice broke the silence, firm but kind. "Chip, go to your room," she instructed. "Let me handle this." But as Chip turns to do so, he sees the look in Plankton's eye—it's a mixture of anger and fear. He knew he had to do something more than just leave. With a shaky hand, he reached out to his father, his heart pounding in his chest. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling, "I'm here, and I didn't me—" But as Chip touches his cheek, that's when Plankton's fury boils over. With a snarl, Plankton shoves Chip away, sending him crashing into the wall. "Don't touch me!" he screams, his antennas a blur of rage. "Don't you ever touch me!" The pain explodes in Chip's chest as he hits the wall, his breath knocked out of him. His heart thunders, his mind racing as he tries to process his father's rejection. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip stammers, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I just wanted—" But Plankton's anger has reached a fever pitch. Karen's eyes widened as she saw the rage in her husband's antennas, her heart racing as she realized the depth of his distress. "Chip," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. "Go to your room, now." The pain in Chip's heart was palpable, but he knew his mother was right. He stumbled backward, his eyes never leaving his father's distressed form. Plankton was now standing, his antennas twitching violently, his whole body trembling with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's gaze flickered between her husband and son, her face etched with concern. "Plank..." But Plankton didn't hear her, his focus solely on Chip. With a roar of fury, Plankton tried to swat at Chip, but Karen stepped in, her arms wrapping around Plankton's body. The sudden restraint only intensified his rage. He struggled against her, his antennas a wild whirl of sensory assault. "Let me go!" he bellowed, his body a blur of flailing limbs. Karen held firm, her eyes never leaving Chip's as she whispered, "Go, now," her voice carrying a quiet urgency. Reluctantly, Chip turned and stumbled out of the room, his mind whirling with confusion and pain. He knew his father's meltdown wasn't personal, but the force of Plankton's rejection felt like a knife to the heart. As the door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against it, his breaths coming in ragged sobs.

CHIP IN MY BOX xii (Autistic author) Chip's tears fall silently as he watches his father's shoulders tense, his father's body language a wall of hurt. He feels the distance between them growing, a vast ocean of misunderstanding. "Dad," he whispers, his voice smaller than the fingertip that had started it all. "I'm sorry." The words hang in the air, a tiny lifebuoy in the storm of Plankton's emotions. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye shimmering with frustration. "You don't get it," he murmurs. "You can't just-" His words are cut off by a deep, shuddering breath. Chip's heart feels like it's being crushed by a vice. He's hurt his dad, and he doesn't know how to fix it. He opens his mouth to apologize again, but no sounds come out. His throat is tight with regret. Plankton's eye is on the new sensory box, his hand shaking slightly as he reaches for the first item. The sight of his father's distress is like a knife twisting in Chip's gut. He wants to take back his words, to somehow erase the pain he's caused. "Dad," he whispers, his voice tiny and scared. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way." But Plankton is too lost in his own world, his mind a tempest of thoughts and emotions. He picks up a fidget from the box, his antennae twitching nervously as he tries to focus. "Dad, I just wanted to help," Chip says, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you." The silence is a thick fog between them, heavy with the weight of Plankton's pain. Plankton's antennae twitch, his grip on the fidget tight. He doesn't look at Chip, his eye focused on the spinning toy. "You can't help by breaking things," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You can't fix me with a pat on the back and a 'good job'." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his heart a storm of regret. "I didn't mean to break it," he whispers, his voice a tiny wave of sorrow. "I just wanted to kn-" Plankton's antennae shoot up, cutting him off. "You just wanted to know," he says, his voice a knife. "To satisfy your own curiosity, without thinking about what it means to me." His eye is a tempest of anger and hurt, his antennae quivering with emotion. Chip's eyes are wide with understanding, the gravity of his father's words sinking in. "I di-" But Plankton's interrupting him. "Don't say it," he says, his voice a whispered warning. "Don't make excuses and try to make it okay." He turns away. "Just... don't." Plankton's back is to him, his antennae drooping. He's retreated into his own world, leaving Chip on the outside, desperately trying to find a way in. He sits up in bed, his small frame a stark contrast to Plankton's slumped shoulders. "I just wanted to show you that I ca--" But Plankton's had enough, his antennae shooting up in annoyance. "I don't need a show-and-tell of your understanding," he snaps. The words hit Chip like a wave, knocking him back into reality. His father's face is a mask of anger, his eye a storm of emotions he can't quite read. Chip feels small, his own curiosity a betrayal. He's always looked up to Plankton, his hero, his teacher, his world. But now, he sees a different side to him, a side that's fragile and in pain. The room seems to shrink, the walls closing in on his guilt. Plankton's back is a wall of anger and hurt, his antennas drooping with the weight of his own words. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his voice a soft ripple of remorse. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton is lost in his own thoughts, his mind racing with the sting of Chip's naive curiosity. The way his son had talked about his sensory box, as if it were a childish toy, had made him feel like a specimen, a curiosity to be studied. He sighs, his antennae drooping lower. He knows Chip didn't mean it, but the hurt lingers. He turns his head, his eye meeting Chip's tear-filled gaze. "I know you didn't mean to," he says. "But you have to understand, it's not just a box. It's a lifeline." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I do," he whispers. "I just wanted to be part of it, to he-" But Plankton's not ready to hear it. "You can't," he says, his voice a gentle wave of finality. "You can't be part of something you don't understand." His antennae twitch with frustration. "I'm not a science experiment for my son to poke and prod. I'm not a baby," Plankton says, his voice a gentle rebuke. "My sensory needs are not a game." His antennae are still, his body a statue of frustration. "You need to respect that." Chip feels his heart crack, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "I do," he whispers, his voice a soft ripple of sincerity. "I just di-" But Plankton's antennae twitch, his patience worn thin. "No, you don't," he says, his voice sharp as a tack. "You see me as something to be fixed, not understood." His eye closed, his breathing shallow. Chip feels his cheeks heat with shame. He'd never seen his father so upset. He's always been the strong one, the one who had all the answers. But now, he's just a kid who's hurt his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice a whisper of regret. "I didn't mean to make yo-" But Plankton's antennae wave away his words. "You don't get it," he murmurs, his voice a gentle reprimand. "Every time you treat me like I'm a child, it's like you're telling me I'm not good enough." His eye shimmers with unshed tears. "So, no more 'good jobs' and no more 'you're special'. I don't want your pity, Chip. So either you can learn to understand me, or you can leave me alone. Because right now, your 'help' is just making things worse." Chip's eyes widen with surprise and pain, the words cutting deeper than any knife. He's never seen his father so vulnerable, so raw. The realization hits him like a wave: his curiosity had hurt Plankton more than he'd ever imagined. He'd unintentionally stripped away the dignity his father had fought so hard to maintain.

CHIP IN MY BOX xi (Autistic author) In the quiet of the room, Plankton's breathing is the only sound, a steady reminder of his presence. Chip's eyes are on his father, his mind racing with thoughts of the day's events. He's seen Plankton tired before, but never like this. Never so lost in his own thoughts, so overwhelmed by the world around him. Chip feels the weight of his promise to protect his father's sanctity. His hand reaches out to Plankton's arm, his touch tentative but reassuring. "It's okay, Dad." Plankton's breathing evens out, his body relaxing into the bed's embrace. His antennae twitch slightly, his mind still racing. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice soft as his eye flutters closed. Chip lies beside him, his small hand resting lightly on his father's arm, as his promise to be more careful keeps his eyes open. He watches Plankton. Plankton's breathing slows, his body finally letting go of the tension. His antennae twitch one last time before stillness takes over. His eye closes, his features relaxed in sleep. His antennae rest gently on the pillow. Chip lies there, his own eyes open, watching his father's sleeping form, the only sound being Plankton's rhythmic breaths. He's never felt more connected to him, or more responsible for his wellbeing. He can see the outline of Plankton's face, his features relaxed in slumber, and it's as if he's seeing him for the first time, really seeing the struggle behind the inventions and the jokes. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, a gentle reminder of the complex mind that's working even in rest. Chip's eyes trace the lines of his father's face, the worry etched into his features smoothing out as he sleeps. He feels a weight lift from his chest, his breathing matching the steady rhythm of Plankton's. The next morning Chip wakes up before his dad next to him. Plankton's antennae are still, his breathing deep and even. Chip can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness as he watches him. He remembers the fear and confusion from the night before, and the promise he made to be more understanding, more careful. Chip's eyes are glued to Plankton's face, the tiny movements of his father's antennae as he dreams. The soft snores are a comforting soundtrack to the early morning silence. With a gentle touch, Chip reaches over to his father's side, his small hand hovering over Plankton's antennae. He wants to show his affection, but fears waking him up. The memory of last night's frightening episode is still fresh in his mind. He's learned that sometimes, love is not about loud gestures, but about quiet moments of understanding and care. He watches Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically, the soft snores a lullaby to his own racing thoughts. Slowly, so as not to disturb him, Chip's hand reaches out and his fingertips graze his father's antennae. He's afraid to touch them fully, afraid the contact might shatter the fragile peace of his father's sleep. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennae twitching. Chip's breath catches, but Plankton settles again. The snores become softer, his body relaxing into the mattress. Chip's hand hovers, his mind racing. How can he show love without waking his dad? He's seen the pain of his father's reality breaks and doesn't want to cause another one. He recalls the softness of Karen's voice, the way she touched Plankton's hand so gently. He tries to mimic her calmness, his hand shaking slightly as it hovers over his father's arm. He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his father's face. Then, with the lightest touch imaginable, his fingertips brush against Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae quiver, but his eye stays closed. Chip's mind races with ideas, his hand hovering over his father's arm. He thinks of all the ways his mother had touched him last night, the gentle strokes and soothing whispers that helped ground him. He tries to replicate that, his thumb tracing a soft arc over his father's shoulder now. Plankton's antennae twitch again, but his breathing remains steady. Chip's heart is a drum in his chest, his eyes wide with hope. He's learned that for Plankton, touch can be both a source of comfort and a trigger. He needs to be careful. He tries different pressures, light as a feather and then a gentle squeeze. Plankton's body remains still, his sleep deep and undisturbed. Encouraged, Chip moves up to Plankton's face, his thumb tracing the contour of his ch... The soft touch of Chip's fingertips against his cheek causes Plankton to flinch, his eye snapping open with a gasp. "Chip?" He sounds groggy, disoriented. Chip's eyes widen, his hand quickly retreating. "Sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice laced with apology. "I didn't mean to wake you." Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his antennae twitching as he tries to process the sudden contact. "What are you doing?" He asks, his voice still thick with sleep. "I just wanted to say good morning," Chip whispers, his eyes shimmering with hope. "But I didn't want to wake you up." Plankton's antennae still twitch, the remnants of sleep still clinging to him. He looks around the room, his gaze eventually finding the shattered remains of his old sensory box. The sight sends a pang of anxiety through his body. "Here," Chip says softly. He holds out the new box, his eyes hopeful. "This one's special, just like you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his gaze shifting to the box, then back to his son. Despite the good intentions in Chip's eyes, his wording seemed... patronizing, to Plankton. He takes the box, somewhat hastily. He's used to the stares, the whispers, the misunderstanding, but from his own son? "I'm not 'special', Chip," he says, his voice tight. "I have a condition. It's not something to be... gawked at or talked down to." The words sting, and Chip's eyes well up with tears. "I didn't mean it like tha-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice a tempest of emotion. "You don't understand," he says, his antennae waving erratically. "You can't just call me special and expect me to feel better. It's not a toy, it's not a quirky trait. It's a part of me that makes every day a challenge." Chip's eyes widen, the tears spilling over as he takes in his father's words. He didn't mean to make him feel belittled, but now he sees the pain in Plankton's eye, the frustration of being reduced to a label. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I wa-" "Don't," Plankton says, cutting his son off with a sharpness that makes Chip's heart ache. "Just... don't." He turns away, his antennae drooping as he focuses on the new sensory box, his eye searching for comfort.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY viii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip's heart ached, his guilt a physical presence in his chest. He knew he had hurt his father, and he desperately wanted to take it back. "I know I don't understand, Dad," he said, his voice quivering. "But I want to learn. I want to be there for you. You're special..." Plankton's antennas perked up slightly at the word 'special'. It was a term he had heard before, but it didn't always come with the warmth and sincerity that filled Chip's voice. "You don't know what that means," he said, his voice low and defensive. Chip felt his heart sink even further, his stomach twisting into knots. "Huh?" Plankton's voice grew louder, his antennas shooting up. "You think because I'm 'special', you can just treat me like a toddler?" He threw the pillow across the room, his anger palpable. "I'm not some kind of science project, Chip!" The room grew tense as Chip swallowed his words, his eyes wide. He had never seen his dad so upset. "Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to—" "Don't," Plankton snapped, his antennas pointing sharply at the ceiling. "You think you can fix me with your little experiments?" His words were like a slap in the face, but Chip knew better than to let his own anger flare up. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. "I just want to help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be ther-" "I don't need your help!" Plankton's outburst echoed through the room, his antennas quivering with emotion. "I don't need anyone to 'fix' me, especially not you!" His voice was raw, each word a dagger to Chip's soul. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with hurt and confusion. "But Dad, I just wa-" "Don't," Plankton said, his voice sharp and final. "Just don't." Chip felt his throat tighten, his words stuck in his mouth. He had never seen his father like this, so raw and exposed. The silence was suffocating, each second that passed feeling like an eternity. Plankton's chest heaved with the effort of containing his emotions. His antennas were a blur of movement, indicating his internal turmoil. Karen watched from the doorway, her heart breaking for both her husband and her son, feeling torn between comforting them and giving them space. "I know," Chip said, his voice small. "But I'm tr-" Plankton's antennas shot up, cutting him off. "You think you know?" His voice was laced with bitterness. "You have no idea what it's like to be me.." Chip felt his heart sink further, his mind racing. "I'm sorry," he offered, his voice small. "But I do know that you're more than just your autism. You're my dad, and I love you." Plankton's antennas remained stiff, his eye unblinking. "Love," he spat out the word like it was a foreign object. "You don't know what that word means either, do you?" Karen stepped forward, her voice a soothing balm. "Plankton, sweetheart, let's not do this," she pleaded. "Chip's just trying to—" "I know what he's trying to do!" Plankton shouted, his antennas jerking erratically. "He's trying to make me feel less than, like I'm so—" "Dad, no," Chip said, his voice shaking. "That's not what I'm doing. I just want us to be closer, like you and Mom.." Plankton's antennas quivered, his body tensing. "Don't bring her into this," he warned. "You don't understand her either." His words were like a slap, but Chip knew his father wasn't in control of his emotions. "I do, Dad," Chip managed to say, his voice filled with determination. "I see how much you both love each other, and I just want to be a part of th-" "Don't you dare!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his antennas thrashing in agitation. "You don't get to use your mother as an excuse for your ignorance!" The room vibrated with tension, each word a blow to Chip's heart. He felt tears prickling his eyes but blinked them back, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "I'm not using her, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to know how to be close to you the way Mom..." Plankton's antennas shot up in a gesture of disbelief. "The way your mother is with me?" his voice was thick with anger. "You think you can just mimic that?" He stood up, his whole body shaking with emotion. Chip felt his heart drop, his words coming out in a rush. "No, Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I just want to connect with you." He took a step towards his father, his hand outstretched, but Plankton took a step back, his antennas bristling. "I don't like your connecting," Plankton said, his voice cold. "I need you to leave me alone." His antennas waved erratically, a clear sign of his distress. Chip took another tentative step forward, reaching out again.. Plankton flinched, his antennas waving wildly. "I said no!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I can't do this right now!" His eye darted around the room, seeking an escape from the overwhelming emotions. Chip's eyes filled with tears, but he knew pushing would only make things worse. He took a step back, his arms falling to his sides. "Ok," he whispered, his voice tight with unshed emotion.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xii (By NeuroFabulous) They walked back to the car. Chip felt a weight lifted from his chest. Plankton sat in the backseat by Chip as Karen drives. The car ride home was quiet, but it wasn't the uncomfortable silence that usually filled the space. Chip could feel the tension easing as they drove away from the beach. Plankton's antennas were relaxed. As the car hummed along, Plankton's eye began to droop, his head lolling to the side. He was falling asleep, his antennas finally at rest. Chip felt his dad's weight shift, his body leaning into his own. He glanced over. Plankton had fallen asleep on his shoulder, soft snores escaping Plankton's slightly open mouth. Karen glanced in the rearview mirror at them. The sight of Plankton's antennas still, his body relaxed against Chip, filled her with hope. Maybe today was a step in the right direction. Chip felt Plankton's warmth, his snores steady and comforting. He shifted slightly, trying not to disturb his dad's slumber. His own thoughts were anything but calm. He was eager to learn more about his father's condition, to find ways to bridge the gap that had formed between them. Karen's eyes met his in the rearview mirror, her expression a mixture of pride and concern. Her voice was a gentle hum as she said, "You're doing great, Chip." It was all the encouragement he needed to hold his position, his mind racing with questions. The car's soft purr lulled Plankton deeper into sleep, his antennas twitching every now and then, as if dreaming of a world where the waves were made of quiet. Chip felt a strange kinship in this moment, his curiosity about his father's autism growing with every molecule of the salty air that filled his lungs. He studied the contours of Plankton's face, the way his antennas danced with the gentle sway of the car. It was a side of his father he had rarely seen—vulnerable, peaceful, his usual armor of sharp words and defensive sarcasm stripped away. Carefully, Chip adjusted his posture, his muscles protesting the stillness. His hand hovered over his dad's shoulder, unsure if his touch would be a comfort or an intrusion. Plankton's antennas twitched in his sleep, his snores a gentle rumble. Chip took a deep breath and gently placed his hand on Plankton's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his palm. He felt a strange sense of peace spread through him as he held his father up, supporting his sleeping form. The car hit a small bump, and Plankton's head lolled to the side, his antennas flailing slightly. Chip's heart skipped a beat, afraid he had disturbed him. But Plankton remained asleep, his breathing unchanged. He gently adjusted Plankton's weight, trying to find a more comfortable position that wouldn't wake him. The soft snores grew quieter as Chip carefully moved his arm, supporting his father's body with his hand. Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, but he remained asleep. Chip held his breath, his heart racing as he adjusted Plankton's weight. Karen's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, her gaze meeting Chip's. She offered a supportive smile. "He's okay," she said softly. "You're doing well." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful form. He felt a strange mix of emotions— relief that his father was at ease, but also anxiety about the fragility of the moment. What if he moved wrong and Plankton woke up upset? What if he didn't move enough and Plankton's shoulder grew sore? Karen's voice was a gentle reminder in the quiet car. "You're doing the right thing," she said, her eyes still on the road ahead. "Just keep being there for him. He must be tired after today." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. He felt the warmth of his dad's body against his own, the soft snores a comfort. As they pulled into the garage, the car's engine purred to a stop. Chip held his breath as his dad's antennas twitched, but Plankton remained asleep. Chip turned to Karen, his expression a silent question. Karen nodded. "Let's get him inside," she murmured. They carefully unbuckled Plankton's seatbelt, his body still heavy with sleep. Chip slid his arm around his dad's waist. Karen opened the door, holding it wide. Together, they moved in a silent dance, lifting Plankton from his seat and guiding him out of the car. His antennas remained still, his body loose and relaxed against Chip's side as Karen put her hands under Plankton's armpits aiding in the gentle transfer. Plankton's head lolled back onto Chip's shoulder, his snores a soft counterpoint to the mechanical sounds of the garage door closing. They both lifted Plankton up by holding his arms, moving slowly and carefully as not to disturb his sleep. The house was cool and dimly lit, designed to be a haven for Plankton. They maneuvered him through the door, his bare feet dragging slightly. As they approached the couch, Chip's heart pounded in his chest. They had to be so careful not to disturb his father's rest. They lowered Plankton's body slowly, inch by inch, until he was lying down. His antennas twitched, but he remained asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Chip's arm was a cradle, supporting his father's head as they eased him onto the soft cushions.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xi (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton remained silent, his gaze locked on the horizon. Chip's heart ached for him, but he knew his father needed space to regain his composure. He watched as Plankton's antennas gradually lifted from their defeated slump, a subtle signal that he was okay. Chip took a deep breath, the salt air filling his lungs as he tried to think of a way to make things right. He knew he had to be careful, not to push too hard. "Dad," he began tentatively, "I know I messed up with the noise. I'll be quieter. Do you wanna kick the ball around?" Plankton's antennas twitched, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. He took a moment before turning to his son. "It's okay," he said, his voice still a little tight. "Yeah, let's kick the ball to each other.." They resumed the game, their movements quieter now. The beach ball rolled gently across the sand, its soft thuds the only sound between them. Chip felt a newfound respect for the complexities of Plankton's mind, for the challenges he faced every day. Plankton's antennas moved slightly as he watched Chip, his expression unreadable. Chip took care to keep his voice low, his movements slow and predictable. He knew that every little thing mattered to his father, every sound, every touch. As they played, Chip noticed that his father's antennas would perk up whenever a seagull squawked in the distance or a child's laughter carried on the breeze. He also noticed that Plankton's movements grew more fluid when the noise around them diminished. "Let's go closer to the water," Plankton suggested after a while, his antennas swaying gently. "It's quieter there." Chip nodded, understanding that his father needed to escape the potential sensory assault of the bustling beach. They walked in silence, their footprints disappearing behind them in the wet sand. The waves whispered to them, a gentle melody that seemed to soothe Plankton's antennas. When they reached the water's edge, Plankton took a deep breath, his antennas lifting slightly. The cool water made him flinch a bit. "You okay, Dad?" Chip asked, his eyes scanning for any signs of distress. Plankton nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he said, his voice calmer. "It's just chilly." Karen packed up their picnic, her movements efficient and quiet. She knew the importance of keeping the environment peaceful for Plankton. "Ready to go?" she called out. Chip nodded, his gaze still on his father's antennas. "Yeah, I'm ready." Plankton's antennas remained steady, a good sign. Karen picked up the picnic basket and gave them both a warm smile. "Let's make the trip home," she said, her voice calm.

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.."

14 🟰

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xv (Autistic author) Karen's heart breaks a little more with each word. "Chip, please," she says, her voice shaking. "Your dad doesn't mean to be..." But Chip's anger has taken over. "Dad you just touched me! So I think at this point, you don't get to tell me what to do!" he yells, his voice a mix of pain and anger as he once again pokes Plankton. This time, Plankton's response is explosive. He jumps off the bed, his antennae flaring with fury. "DO. NOT. TOUCH. ME!" he roars, his voice booming in the confines of the room. The power behind his words sends a shiver down Karen's spine. "Chip, stop it," Karen says, her voice firm. "Your dad's autism makes him sensitive to touch right now. You know this." But Chip is beyond reason, his own pain fueling his actions. He pokes at Plankton again, his eyes filled with anger. Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tight as a spring. "Don't," he warns, his voice low and dangerous. But Chip doesn't listen. He reaches out once more, his finger poised like a dart. Karen can see the internal battle raging behind that one word, the need for his personal space and the fear of what could happen if it's violated. The moment Chip's finger makes contact with his arm, Plankton's unable to take much more. With a whimper that sounds like the sigh, he crumples back onto his bed as his eye rolls back in his head. His body convulses once, twice, and then stills as his eye closes. Karen's seen this before, but the sight of it never gets easier. She rushes to Plankton's side. "Daddy!" Chip's voice cracks, his anger dissolving into fear. "Mom!" Karen's eyes widen as she sees Plankton's body go limp. She quickly assesses his condition, seeing the signs of a meltdown turning into a full-blown shutdown. "Mom?" Chip's voice is shaky, his anger now replaced with fear. "What's happening?" Karen's heart is racing as she gently cradles Plankton's head. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice calm but filled with urgency. "He's just overwhelmed." Chip stands frozen, his hand still in midair. The reality of what his words have caused crashes over him like a wave, soaking him in guilt. "Dad?" he whispers, his voice tiny and scared. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, full of pain. "I'll take care of your father," she says, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. "Why don't you go to your room?" She nods towards the door. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. He backs out of the room, the weight of his guilt following him like a shadow. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Karen alone with Plankton. The silence is heavy, the air charged with the residue of their outburst. Karen pulls the blankets up to Plankton's chin. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible over his shallow breaths. She runs her hand over his forehead, soothing his antennae. Plankton's body shudders under her touch, his mind reeling from the sensory assault. "You're okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle lullaby in the storm of Plankton's thoughts. She continues to stroke his antennae, trying to ground him. Plankton's eyelid flickers, his mind slowly coming back to his surroundings. The weight of his exhaustion is like a heavy blanket, smothering him. "Chip," Karen says, her voice tight with worry. "Come back in. I need you to see this." Chip's eyes are red from crying, but he obeys, his gaze falling on his father's still form. "Look at him," Karen says, her voice thick with emotion. "This is what your words did." Chip's eyes fill with horror as he looks at his father's form. "Dad," he whispers, his hand reaching out tentatively. But Plankton doesn't react, his mind shut down. Karen's eyes are filled with despair, watching her husband, her partner, her best friend, trapped in his own overwhelmed world. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking with concern. Chip's hand hangs in the air, his heart racing. He doesn't know what to do. "He's in a shutdown," Karen explains, her voice calm but strained. "It's like his brain has turned off to protect itself." Chip's hand drops to his side, his eyes never leaving his father's motionless body. "But why?" he asks, his voice small and scared. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines into her face. "It's his autism, Chip. It's like his brain's way of saying 'I can't handle any more'." She swipes at her own tears, trying to keep her voice steady. "When the stimulation gets to be too much, his body just...shuts down." Chip looks at his dad, his heart heavy with regret. "But I didn't know it would be this bad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to be heard." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I know, sweetheart," she says. "But you see, your dad's brain works differently than yours or mine." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "When there's too much noise, or too many people, or even just too much expectation," she pauses, her hand still stroking his antennae, "it can be like someone's turned the volume up too high, and everything just becomes too much." Chip sighs. "But why did we have to leave?" he asks, his voice small and lost. Karen looks at Plankton, his body still shaky from his meltdown. "The science fair was too much for Daddy," she says gently. "You know how I said he overwhelms easy?" Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. "At the science fair, Daddy had a kind of seizure," Karen explains, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's like his brain got too full of information and it couldn't process it all. To many people were talking all at once." She pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It's not that he didn't want to be there for you, Chip. It's that his body simply couldn't handle it." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "But he looked normal," he says, his voice tinged with doubt. "He didn't..." Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand. "It's not like a normal seizure," she explains. "It's called an absence seizure. He's semiconscious but his mind kind of... leaves him for a moment." Chip nods slowly, his eyes focused on Plankton's face. "But why was he so mad at me?" Karen looks at her son, her heart aching for both of them. "It was just his brain's way of dealing with the overload. And when you kept poking him and blaming him," she sighs, her eyes filling with tears, "it just added to his stress. He's just... overwhelmed." Chip stares at the floor, his eyes wide with guilt. "I didn't mean to," he whispers. "I just wanted you to be proud of me." Karen's heart aches for her son. She knows his intentions were pure, but the impact of his words was like a bomb exploding in Plankton's mind. "I know, Chip," she says gently. "But sometimes, we have to think about how our words affect others, especially when someone's going through something as hard as your dad. Now it's getting late; we could all use some rest." Chip nods, his throat tight with unshed tears. He kisses Plankton's forehead, his heart heavy with regret. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I'll do better." Karen watches as her son backs out of the room, the weight of the evening's events weighing heavily on his small shoulders. She wishes she could take away his pain, his guilt. Turning back to Plankton, she gets in his line of sight and speaks softly. "Plankton, honey, are you awake..." His single eye opens slightly, a tiny slit in his otherwise still form. "Yes," he whispers, his voice hoarse with fatigue. Karen's heart clenches with relief. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae barely moving. "Tired," he whispers. Karen nods, understanding. "I'll be right here," she promises, her voice a gentle caress.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xiv (Autistic author) Finding Chip's door closed, Karen knocks gently. "Chip, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. There's a pause, then the sound of sniffling. "Come in," he mumbles, his voice muffled by the closed door. Karen opens the door with a soft creak, the room bathing in the soft light from the hallway. Chip is sitting on his bed, his face red and blotchy from crying. The sight of him like this breaks her heart. "Chip?" she says, her voice trembling with concern. "What's wrong, baby?" Chip's head snaps up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "I wanted you to be proud of me in the science fair, if only Dad..." But Chip was cut off, interrupted by a crash from his parent's room. Both Karen and Chip exchanged looks of alarm before bolting out of Chip's room and down the hall. They open the door. The sight that greeted them was like a tornado had swept through their bedroom. Plankton's anger had manifested in a flurry of destructive energy, his small body heaving with the effort of his rage. He had thrown everything within his reach: the lamp was on the floor, the shadows from its shattered glass twisting and turning on the ceiling like ghosts. The bedside table lay on its side, its contents spilled out. Karen's eyes widened in shock, but it was the sight of Plankton that truly broke her heart. His face was a mask of fury, his antennae whipping around as if about to strike. "Plankton, honey, what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and concern. But Chip's presence was like fuel to the fire, only serving to inflame his anger further. "I'm not trying to be a burden!" Plankton shouted, his tiny fists clenched in rage. "I'm lovable!" His antennae whipped back and forth in a display of frustration that Karen had never seen from him before. Karen took a step back, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Plankton," she pleaded, her voice shaky. "You..." But Plankton was beyond reason, his autistic mind overwhelmed by the accusations. "I'M. NOT. A. BURDEN!" he screamed at Chip, his tiny fists shaking with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's eyes widened in shock. Plankton had never been like this before. His autism had brought moments of stress, but she had never seen this raw anger. Chip looked from his mother to his father, his own eyes brimming with tears. He understood now that his words had caused this. He had never meant to make his father feel that way. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I'm sorr-" But Plankton's anger had consumed him. "But I didn't know how she now feels about me?" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. "How tired is she, from caring for me?" His eye was wild, his tiny frame shaking with the effort of his outburst. "And no more lying!" Karen's heart was racing. She knew she had to intervene before things got worse. She stepped tentatively into the room, her hands held out in a calming motion. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "What did Chip say to upset you?" She turns to Chip. Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, his cheeks flushing with guilt. He swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. "I didn't mean it," he managed to get out. "I just got..." But Karen's gaze was on Plankton, her heart breaking for the pain she could see in his eye. "Chip, tell me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "What did you say to your father?" Chip took a deep breath, his eyes darting to the floor. "I...I told him he's a burden," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "That mom deserves better, that...that he's ruining our lives." The admission was like a punch to his own stomach. "Because I can see how tired you're feeling with his tantrums, and it's not fair that YOU have to deal with this," he added, gesturing to his dad. "I told him you don't like to suffer becau…" But before he could finish, Karen's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Chip," she said, cutting him off. "That's enough." Her voice was calm, but it held a firmness that made him swallow his next words. She turned to Plankton, her gaze filled with compassion and understanding. "You're not a burden, sweetheart," she said, her voice steady as a rock in a storm. "You're our family, and we love you." "Mom, that's no excuse to keep him around," Chip snaps. Plankton's antennae quiver, his rage now filled with even more hurt and anger. "Chip," Karen says, her voice a gentle reprimand. "That's not how we speak to each other." She kneels beside Plankton's shaking form, her hand reaching out to him. Plankton's eye locks onto her hand. He flinches away, his breathing erratic. "Don't touch me," he says, his voice cold and hard. Karen's hand freezes in midair, the sting of his words cutting deep. "Okay," she whispers, retracting her hand slowly. "Okay." Her heart is a whirlwind of emotions. She understands Chip's frustration, but she also sees the devastation on Plankton's face. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. "Chip, please," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "We have to be understanding." But Chip's pain is like a volcano, erupting without warning. "Understanding?!" he yells. "What about what I feel?" He turns to Plankton, his eyes wet with tears. "Do you even know how hard it is for me to see Mom tired from you all the time?" Plankton's face falls. "I never meant to..." But Chip's tantrum isn't over. "You're always so selfish!" he shouts, the words stinging like whips. "You don't think about us, about what we need! And now, because of you, I'm missing the science fair! So much for your 'love'!" He snaps, poking Plankton. Hard. Hard enough to make him whine. Plankton's anger spikes. "Don't touch me!" he yells, his voice echoing in the small space. Chip rolls his eyes and proceeds to touch Plankton again. This time, the reaction is swift and violent. Plankton's tiny arm shoots out like a whip, slapping Chip's hand away. "I SAID NO TOUCH!" he screams, the force of his words shaking the room.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xv (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's antennae twitch. "M'sorry," he murmurs, his voice a weak apology for his condition. Karen's hand is a steady presence, her grip reassuring. "You have nothing to apologize for," she says, her voice a soft whisper of comfort. Chip watches his father, his curiosity piqued. "Hey, Dad," he says, his voice a gentle reminder of the care and understanding that now exists between them. Chip sits on the edge of the couch, his hand reaching to touch Plankton's shoulder... Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye snapping open in alarm. His hand shoots out, batting Chip's arm away. Chip recoils, his eyes wide with surprise. "It's okay, Dad," he says quickly, his voice low. "I wa-" But Plankton's antennae are quivering with agitation, his body tense. "Don't," he snaps, his voice sharp. Karen's eyes dart to her son, her expression a silent apology. She knows Plankton's autism makes him hypersensitive to touch, especially when in pain. Chip's hand hover in mid-air, his eyes wide. "Why'd yo-" Plankton's voice is a harsh interruption, his antennae twitching erratically. "I said don't," he repeats, his voice a firm command. Chip's hand drops to his side, his expression one of confusion and hurt. "It's okay," Karen says quickly, her voice a gentle reminder. "He's just sensitive." Sandy nods, her eyes on Plankton's face. "It's okay, Chip," she says softly. "Let's just give him some space." Chip nods, his gaze on his father's tense form. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she watches Plankton, his antennae still twitching with agitation. "It's all right," she whispers, her voice a gentle balm. "Your body's just healing." The silence stretches between them, a soft acknowledgment of his pain. The compress feels cold against his cheek, the medication a distant promise. His antennae droop slightly, his body beginning to relax. Karen watches him closely, her eyes a map of his comfort. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You just need to rest." His antennae twitch in response, his breathing evening out. The medication starts to kick in, the pain a distant memory. Plankton's antennae droop with the weight of his exhaustion. Karen's hand remains in his, a silent promise of support. She knows that his autism means that even the smallest touch can be too much, yet she also knows the comfort of familiarity. Chip's eyes are wide, taking in the scene before him. He wants to be near his dad! Karen's eyes are on them both, her heart a silent prayer. She knows how much Chip wants to comfort Plankton, to bridge the gap that autism often forces between them. Chip tries to keep his moves calm, but his heart races with concern despite his efforts to hold back. He also sees the way Karen's hand rests on Plankton's, a silent offer of comfort, and wonders if he could do the same.. So Chip takes a deep breath, his finger tentative as it reaches out to his father's shoulder, his touch immediate... Plankton's body twitches right at Chip's contact, his eye snapping open. "Mmph," he mumbles, his antennae shooting up in a defensive stance. Chip's hand freezes, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "It's okay, Da-" Yet Plankton's antennae droop again, his eye falling closed. "Mmh," he mumbles. But Chip takes this as a green light. He leans in closer, his finger brushing Plankton's cheek... "Don't touch me!" Plankton's voice is a whipcrack, his antennae twitching angrily. His hand shoots up to swat Chip's touch away. "M'fine!" he snaps, his body trembling with pain and frustration. Karen's heart aches, caught between her son's well-meaning concern and Plankton's desperate need for space. "Chip," she says gently, her voice a calming force. "Remember what we talked about.." Yet Chip wants to ask questions about his dad's dental surgery. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye opening to slits. "What?" he snaps, his voice a sharp edge. Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity. "What was it like?" he asks, his voice eager. "The surgery, I mean." Karen's smile is a soft explanation. "It was like a long nap," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "They gave him medicine to make him sleepy, so he wouldn't feel anything." Chip's eyes light up with interest. "What happened to make him asleep?" he asks, his voice filled with eagerness to understand. Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They used anesthesia," she says, her voice calm and steady. "It's like a special kind of sleep that lets doctors work without you feeling anything." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with questions. "But how did they know he was asleep?" he asks, his voice a whisper of wonder. Karen's smile is filled with pride. "They used monitors, sweetie," she explains. "They keep track of his heartbeat and breathing, so they know he's okay." Chip's gaze is riveted on Plankton's swollen cheeks. "But his mouth?" he presses. "What did they do?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his discomfort visible. Karen's voice is a soft guide. "They took out his wisdom teeth," she says. "They were gonna cause problems." Chip's curiosity is a whirlwind of questions. "How do they know when you're asleep?" he asks, his voice filled with awe. Karen's smile is a gentle teaching tool. "They watch his brain waves," she says, her words a soft explanation. "They use a machine that shows them how much he's sleeping." Chip nods, his eyes absorbing the information. "And how'd dad woke up?" Karen's eyes are filled with patience. "They stopped the medicine," she says. "And when he was ready, his body woke up." Chip's mind is a storm of curiosity. "But what was it like?" he asks again, his voice a persistent wonder. "Being asleep like that?" Karen's eyes hold a hint of amusement. "It's like a very deep sleep," she says. "You don't dream, you don't feel, you just rest." Chip's curiosity is a tiny flame, flickering brightly in the quiet room. "But what about when he woke up?" he presses, his voice filled with a child's need to understand the world. Karen's smile is a gentle nod. "When you wake up from surgery, it's a little different," she explains. "The body's still sleepy, and his mouth was numb." Chip's eyes are wide with understanding. "Oh," he says, his voice a soft wonder.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xiv (By NeuroFabulous) Sandy and Chip watch as she tucks the blanket around his form, her movements careful not to disturb his slumber. "Let him sleep," she murmurs, her voice a caress. "He'll wake when his body's ready." The two of them nod, understanding in their silent gazes. They sit quietly, the only sound the ticking of the clock and Plankton's deep snores. Sandy glances at Karen, her eyes filled with concern. "Is he okay?" she asks in a hushed whisper. Karen nods, her expression calm. "It's normal after surgery. He'll be fine." Chip's gaze is glued to his father, his curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar sight. "What happens now?" he asks, his voice small in the quiet room. Karen sits back, her hands folded in her lap. "Now, we wait," she murmurs. "Let him rest." Sandy nods, her eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. "It's late," she says, her voice low. "Should I stay?" "You can sleep in my bed Sandy," Karen says. Sandy nods, her eyes on Plankton. "Thank you," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to leave you alone." Karen smiles, her gaze on Plankton's peaceful face. "You won't," she says. "We're all here." Sandy nods, a soft smile gracing her features. "Thank you," she says, her voice a gentle echo in the silent room. She takes the offered space, her eyes never leaving her friend's sleeping form. Karen watches Plankton sleep, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore. Her thoughts are a whirlwind of emotion, a mix of worry and love. She knows the road ahead won't be easy, but she's determined to navigate it with patience and care. The next morning, the sun peeks through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the living room. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching as the world intrudes on his slumber. The room is quiet, the remnants of the previous day's events a fading memory. He opens his eye to find Karen asleep in the chair beside him. Her hand is curled around his, a silent promise of support. Plankton's mouth feels swollen, the tender reminder of the surgery yesterday. He sits up slowly, his body protesting with a soft groan. The house is still, the only sounds the distant chirps of early morning scallops. Chip is probably still asleep, Sandy in the other room. Plankton's antennae quiver as the pain of the surgery starts to make itself known, a dull throb that echoes through his body. He reaches up to his mouth with tentative fingers, the swollen flesh meeting his touch with a sharp sting. He winces, his body tensing in response. Karen's eyes open. "You're ok," she whispers, her voice a gentle balm. She takes his hand, guiding it away from his face. "Le..." But Plankton's antennae are already twitching with discomfort, his eye wide with pain. "M'hurt," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse whisper. Karen's expression softens, her eyes filled with sympathy. "I know," she says, her voice soothing. "It's from the surgery." Plankton nods, his body stiff with discomfort. Karen stands, her movements fluid. She fetches a cold compress from the kitchen, the fridge's hum a gentle reminder of the world outside their quiet bubble. "Here," she murmurs, her touch featherlight as she places the compress gently against his cheek. The coldness soothes the ache, his antennae quivering with relief. Plankton's eye closes, his body sagging into the couch cushions. The pain is a dull throb, a constant reminder of his surgery. Karen sits beside him, her hand resting lightly on his, her presence a comforting weight. "What else can I do?" she whispers, her eyes filled with concern. He mumbles something incoherent, his antennae twitching. Karen frowns, her brow furrowed. "What was that, Plankton?" He opens his eye slightly, his voice thick with pain. "M'hurt," he whispers. Karen's heart clenches. "Your teeth?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. Plankton nods, his antennae drooping. "Mmh," he confirms, his hand moving to his swollen cheek. The coldness of the compress is a small mercy, but the throb persists. Karen's gaze is filled with determination as she looks for more ways to ease his discomfort. She remembers the pain medication from the doctor, quickly retrieving it from the kitchen counter. The bottle rattles slightly in her hand, each pill a potential lifeline. Plankton's eye widens slightly at the sound, his antennas twitching with anticipation. She opens the bottle with a soft click, the smell of mint wafting upwards. "Take one," she instructs, her voice a gentle guideline through the fog of his pain. He nods, his hand shaking as he takes the pill. The water is cold on his swollen tongue, the liquid a sweet reprieve. Karen watches as he swallows, her face etched with care. "There you go," she whispers, her hand never leaving his. The pain medication takes effect slowly, the throb easing into a dull ache. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his breathing evening out. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. He sinks back into the couch cushions, his antennae drooping with relief. The cold compress is a steady presence, her hand in his a warm reassurance. "You're welcome," she whispers, as Chip follows his mom's friend Sandy to them. Sandy's eyes are filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. "How's he doing?" she asks, her voice a soft question in the early morning silence. Karen looks over back at Plankton. "He's in a bit of pain," she says, her voice a gentle sigh. "But the medication should kick in soon." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I can stay and help," she offers. "If you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye opening to meet her gaze. "Mmph," he mumbles, his voice still slurred. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "You're doing great," she whispers. Chip sees his dad's swollen cheeks and his antennae drooping. "Does it hurt a lot, Dad?" he asks, his voice filled with a newfound compassion for the man he's often seen as just his quirky father. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye blinking open. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse echo of his pain. "A little." Karen's smile is filled with empathy as she squeezes his hand. "It's okay, I'm here," she whispers. She knows the pain of his autism, the way it can magnify the smallest of discomforts into a symphony of sensory overload. She gently places the compress back on his cheek, her eyes never leaving his face.

CHIP IN MY BOX xiv (Autistic author) Chip opens his mouth, but the words won't come out. He's hurt his father, and now he's lost for words. Karen's eyes widen with concern, her hand reaching out to comfort his shaking shoulders. "What happened?" she asks softly, her voice a caress in the stark silence of the morning. Her eyes search his face, seeing the pain and regret etched in every line. Chip's throat is tight with unshed tears as he holds up the sensory box, his hands trembling. "I... I broke his trust," he whispers, his voice a tiny wave crashing against the shoreline of her concern. He can't meet her gaze, his eyes focused on the box, a symbol of his father's pain. Karen's heart squeezes at the sight of her son's distress. She knows Plankton's condition isn't easy, but she didn't realize the depth of the rift her husband's words had created. "What did you say?" she asks. Chip's shoulders heave with a sigh, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "I... I said he was an embarrassment," he whispers, the confession a painful admission. "And that you had to take care of him like a baby. And he gave me the sensory box and told me to leave." The words tumble out, each one heavier than the last. Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. She's seen Plankton's pride crumble before, but never because of their son's words. "Oh, Chip," she says. "That wasn't kind." He looks up at her, his eyes swimming with regret. "I know, Mom," he says. "I didn't mean it. But I just don't know how to help him." Karen's gaze is filled with understanding as she takes the box from his trembling hands. "You're still learning, sweetie," she says, her voice a soft breeze of comfort. "And so are we. We all make mistakes. Let's go check on him." Her hand is a gentle guide, leading him back down the hallway towards Plankton's room. The door is still closed, but she knocks softly. "Plankton?" she calls. "Can we talk?" There's no answer. Her hand lingers on the knob, her heart a drum of anxiety. She opens the door slowly, the room silent. Inside, Plankton sits on the bed, his antennae still, his eye vacant. He's having another staring spell, lost in his own sensory overload. Plankton's eye is wide open, unseeing. His antennas are stiff, pointing straight up into the air. Karen's gaze is filled with concern as she approaches her husband, her steps silent. She's seen this before, the way his body shuts down when the world becomes too much. It's a self-defense mechanism, his brain's way of coping with the overwhelming sensations that bombard him. She sits beside him, her hand reaching out to cover his. "Plankton?" she says. But he doesn't move, lost in the chaos of his own mind. He doesn't blink. All because of Chip's words. Karen's heart beats a frantic rhythm as she tries to snap him out of it, her voice a gentle coax. "Plankton, sweetie?" He doesn't respond, his body rigid, his mind adrift, as he's too far gone to grasp it. The room feels too bright, too loud, even with the curtains drawn. The silence is a scream in her ears, a reminder of her own helplessness in the face of his condition. Karen's touch is a lifeline, a gentle pressure that seeps through his frozen shell. Plankton's breath stutters, his antennae twitching slightly. She whispers his name, a soft caress in the storm of his overwhelmed senses. His eye blinks, once, twice, focusing on her face. The spell begins to break, his body slowly uncoiling from its protective shell. "Karen?" he murmurs, his voice a tentative exploration of reality. The world rushes in, a tidal wave of sound and color. He flinches, his antennae waving wildly as he tries to ground himself. She holds his hand tighter, her voice a lighthouse in the storm. "It's okay, sweetie," she says. "You're safe." Plankton's breath hitches, his body slowly coming back online. He's aware of the weight of the blankets, the softness of the pillow. His eye finds hers, and he recalls Chip's accusations. The hurt is a physical thing, a heavy stone in his chest. He tries to speak, but his voice is a mere rasp. "Karen," he manages to croak, his antennae twitching with the effort. Her eyes are filled with concern, her grip on his hand unyielding. "I'm here," she says, her voice a gentle wave of reassurance. "You're okay." But Plankton's mind is stuck in a loop, Chip's words echoing like a persistent siren in his head. "I'm an embarrassment," he murmurs, his antennae drooping. "A baby." The room spins around him, his senses a cacophony of pain. The light is too bright, the air too thick. He feels like he's drowning in his own thoughts. Karen's voice is a beacon, cutting through the fog. "Plankton," she says again. "Look at me." Her eyes are calm, a safe harbor in the chaos of his mind. He tries to focus, his eye twitching as the world realigns itself around her. "You're not an embarrassment," she says, her voice firm. "You're not a baby." Her words are a gentle breeze, blowing away the storm of doubt. "You have a condition, and we're here to support you."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM viii (Autistic author) Plankton's antennas lift slightly. "Game," he whispers, his voice shaking. "Just game." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, his claws tense. "If it's just a game, then why are you acting so strange?" he snaps at Plankton. Plankton's antennas wobble with effort to maintain control. "Because," he starts, his voice shaky, "Plankton... different." Mr. Krabs stares at Sponge Bob, his expression unyielding. "Different?" he echoes, his eyes darting to Plankton, then back to his employee. Sponge Bob nods, his voice trembling. "Yes, Mr. Krabs, Plankton's been through something that's changed him." He looks at Karen for support, but she stays silent, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and hope. Mr. Krabs crosses his arms, his eyebrow quivering with skepticism. "What do you mean, changed him?" he asks. "Is he trying to steal the Krabby Patty formular again?" Sponge Bob's frustration rises. "No, Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice steady. "It's not like that. Plankton has... a condition." Mr. Krabs' skepticism turns to curiosity. "Condition?" he repeats, his voice softer. Sponge Bob nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "He's been diagnosed with acquired autism," he explains, his voice barely above a whisper. Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, his mouth dropping open as the words sink in. He turns to Karen, his gaze demanding confirmation. "Is it true?" he asks, his voice gruff. Karen nods solemnly, her circuits flickering with a mix of sadness and hope. "Yes," she says gently. "Plankton has an acquired form of autism." Mr. Krabs' expression shifts from skepticism to shock. He looks at Plankton. "Autism?" he repeats, his voice barely above a murmur. "But... but how?" Karen's LED lights dim slightly. "I don't think he'd like to answer that question" she says, her voice clinical. "It's caused a significant shift in his neural functioning." Mr. Krabs' gaze remains on Plankton, his expression one of dawning understanding. "Was me fry pan..." he starts, his voice trailing off. Plankton's antennas drop, and he nods slowly. "Yes," he whispers. "Krabs pan." Mr. Krabs' face crumbles, his claws clenching into fists. "I didn't mean to," he stammers, his voice choking with regret. "I was just trying to keep me formular safe." Plankton's antennas twitch, his single eye welling with unshed tears. Mr. Krabs' guilt is palpable, his eyes swimming with remorse. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he says hoarsely. "I had no idea." But Plankton's gaze doesn't soften. His stare is unyielding, his voice cold. "Sorry not enough," he says, his words clipped. "Hurt, Mr. Krabs hurt Plankton bad." Mr. Krabs' heart squeezes at the accusation in Plankton's voice. He's never heard him speak like this before, with such raw emotion. "I know," he says remorsefully, his voice cracking. "I know I hurt you, Plankton. I'm so, so sorry." But Plankton's unforgiving gaze doesn't waver. "No," he insists, his voice still cold. "Not just sorry. Mr. Krabs must understand." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes brimming with tears. "I do," he chokes out. "I understand. What can I do to help?" Plankton's antennas still don't move, his expression unreadable. Mr. Krabs' reaches for Plankton's shoulder. That's the last straw. With a burst of energy, Plankton pushes away the clawed hand. "No touch," he snaps, his voice cold. "Mr. Krabs not understand." His words are like shards of ice, each one cutting deeper into Mr. Krabs' guilt. Mr. Krabs' face falls, his hand retreating quickly. "But I do," he insists, his voice desperate. "I swear, Plankton, I do." But Plankton's expression remains stony, his antennas rigid. "No," he says simply. "Krabs don't." His voice is a knife, slicing through the tension in the room. Mr. Krabs' eyes water, his heart heavy with regret. "I swear, Plankton," he pleads. "I'll do anything to make it right." But Plankton's gaze remains steady, his unforgiving gaze bearing into Mr. Krabs' soul. "Make right?" he echoes. "Cannot make right. Cannot change. Krabs fault." Mr. Krabs' shoulders sag with the weight of Plankton's words. He knows his rival is right; he can't reverse what's been done, no matter how much he wishes it. "But I want to help," he says desperately. "Please, tell me how..." But Plankton's expression is a mask of coldness, his antennas unyielding. "Help?" he echoes, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Krabs can't help." His gaze slides to the discarded chessboard, his eyes lingering on the scattered pieces. "Too late." Mr. Krabs' shoulders sag with the weight of Plankton's rejection. "Please," he says desperately. "I didn't know. I just want to make it better." But Plankton's unforgiving gaze doesn't falter. His stare is a mirror reflecting Mr. Krabs' own guilt and regret. "Better?" he repeats, his voice devoid of emotion. "Cannot be. No cure. Just stop." Mr. Krabs' eyes well with tears, his heart aching with the pain of his mistake. "But I want to fix it," he says pleadingly. "I want to make it right." But Plankton's gaze doesn't soften. "No fix," he says flatly. "Cannot change what is." His single eye seems to bore into Mr. Krabs, his voice unyielding. "Krabs hurt Plankton. Krabs must live with." Mr. Krabs hangs his head, his shoulders heaving with sobs. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I'll do anything." But Plankton simply shakes his head, his antennas still. "Cannot change," he murmurs. "Must live with." His eye are empty, devoid of the malicious spark that once fueled his quest for the Krabby Patty formula. Normally Plankton would love to cause such a reaction out of Mr. Krabs. Mr. Krabs' sobs grow louder, his guilt consuming him. "But I didn't mean to," he wails. "It was just a mistake." Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. "Mistake," he echoes, his voice still cold. "Mistake not enough." His eye are unrelenting, his stare piercing through Mr. Krabs' soul. "You hurt me," he says, his words a quiet thunder clap in the tense silence. "Mistake changed me." Mr. Krabs looks up, his eyes red with tears. "I know," he says, his voice thick with regret. "I know I hurt you, Plankton. Yet I didn't know how bad..." But Plankton's expression is one of resentment, his antennas twitching with anger. "Hurt," he says, his voice cold. "Krabs hurt Plankton. Krabs must understand." His gaze doesn't waver from Mr. Krabs, his accusation hangs in the air like a heavy fog. Mr. Krabs' sobs quiet, his eyes swimming with regret. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. "I do underst--" "No," Plankton interrupts, his voice like a whip. "You don't." His antennas wave with agitation, his eye flashing with a cold fire. "You don't understand pain." His words are sharp, cutting through Mr. Krabs' protests. Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws trembling. "I see that now," he whispers, his voice racked with emotion. "But what can I do?" His desperation is clear, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of forgiveness. "I'd even give you a krabby patty.." But Plankton's expression doesn't change. His antennas remain rigid, his eye still cold. "Krabby Patty not fix," he says simply. "Cannot fix brain." His voice is matter-of-fact, his tone unyielding. Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, his hope dashed. "But I'll do anything," he insists, his voice desperate. But Plankton's unforgiving gaze remains unmoved. "Anything?" he repeats, his tone mocking. "Can you give me back my mind?" His antennas wave in frustration. "Do leave, Krabs. Can leave." Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws hanging limp at his sides. "But Plankton," he begs. "We can work together, I can help you get better." But Plankton's face is a wall of coldness, his antennas waving with anger. "No better," he says firmly. "Only live now." His words are a reflection of the stark reality that Mr. Krabs had ignored. Mr. Krabs' eyes fill with tears, his claws clutching at his chest. "I hurt you so badly, Plankton. But I can't live with this," he sobs. "I know Krabs sorry now. Yet I last registered Krabs laughter as I fainted from the impact. Even if Krabs didn't mean to, Krabs did. So goodbye, Eugene Krabs." The room grew silent as the gravity of Plankton's words settled heavily upon Mr. Krabs. He hadn't considered that his foolishness could lead to such a profound change in his rival. Mr. Krabs looked at Plankton, his eyes brimming with desperation. "If I can go back and sacrifice my life to..." "Can't. Perhaps can find peace but for now, goodbye." The finality in Plankton's voice was a slap to Mr. Krabs' face, his hope crumbling like sand through his claws. He staggered back, his eyes wide with shock. Sponge Bob's heart ached, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched the exchange unfold. He knew Mr. Krabs was suffering, but he couldn't ignore the pain in Plankton's voice either. Mr. Krabs' sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the weight of his guilt. "Please, Plankton," he begged. But Plankton's gaze remained on the chessboard, his hands tracing the pattern of the squares, his antennas were still, his body a statue of cold resolve. Mr. Krabs' sobs turned to sniffs as he took in Plankton's unyielding stance. He knew his rival well and he could see the deep-seated pain that lay beneath the surface of his words. With a heavy heart, he nodded. "I'll let ye space then. I never wanted to lose ye." Plankton turns away. Mr. Krabs' eyes grew large with sadness, his body quivering with the weight of his mistakes. "SpongeBob I'll give ye time off work as long as you need to when for Plankton. Goodbye, Plankton," he choked out. He left the chum bucket.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY viii (Autistic author) Just as quiet settled, Krabs' booming voice filled the room. "Plankton, where are ye!" Plankton's eye flew open. Sponge Bob and Karen exchanged a worried look, knowing that Mr. Krabs' presence could easily overwhelm him, not to mention Krabs caused this. Krabs marched in, his beady eyes searching the room. "Ah, there ye be," he said, spotting the small figure on the couch. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tensing. "K-Krabs," he stuttered, his voice shaking with fear and anxiety despite trying to appear strong. Mr. Krabs' eyes twinkling with mischief. "What's this, Plankton? Too tired to scheme today?" Plankton's antennae twitched nervously. "Just... resting," he managed to murmur. "Resting? In the middle of the day? Pish-posh!" He waved a dismissive claw in the air. "More like plotting! I know your tricks, Plankton!" Sponge Bob stepped in, his spongy body blocking Krabs' view. "Hey, Mr. Krabs," he said. "Plankton's had a rough day. He's just taking it easy." Krabs' claws click together. "Rough day, eh?" he sneered. "I'll give ye rough!" Plankton's antennae drooped as his heart raced. The familiar threat of his enemy was like a knot in his stomach, a reminder of the harsh world outside his sanctuary, and what happened last time. Sponge Bob's voice grew firm. "Mr. Krabs, can we maybe talk about this later?" Mr. Krabs' eyes widened slightly at the unusual assertion. "Later? What's the matter with now?" Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's trembling form. "Plankton's off the clock.." "Off the clock?" he scoffed. "There's no 'off the clock'!" Sponge Bob stepped closer to his friend, his spongy body a barrier between the two adversaries. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his voice firm, "Can we reschedule the... uh... brainstorming session?" Mr. Krabs' expression grew skeptical. Karen stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Krabs, please. Plankton's been through a lot." Mr. Krabs' eyes flicked to Karen. "Pah! Plankton's always had boundaries, but that's never stopped before!" Plankton's antennae quivered desperately, tensing even further. "Please, Krabs," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can't." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrowed, his claws coming to rest on his hip. "What do you mean, 'can't'?" he demanded. Sponge Bob's voice was firm but kind. "Mr. Krabs, Plankton's been diagnosed with something. It's like a... a... special condition," he stumbled. Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrowed, sneer remaining. "Special condition? I'll give ye a special condition!" The room grew tense, the energy palpable. Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his body shrinking under the weight of Mr. Krabs' aggression. The memories of the fight and the subsequent meltdown flashed through his mind, a painful reminder of his vulnerability. Mr. Krabs' shadow loomed over the couch, his eyes gleaming with malice. Plankton's breathing grew shallow, his heart racing. He felt like a tiny creature trapped under the gaze of a giant predator. "Please," he whimpered, his voice barely audible. Sponge Bob stepped in front of Plankton, his spongy body taut with tension. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his tone firm, "Plankton's not ok. You need to back off." Mr. Krabs' sneer faltered, his claws pausing mid-air. He took a step back, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Plankton's state. The small creature's eye was wide with fear, his body trembling beneath the thin blanket. Sponge Bob watched, his heart breaking for his friend. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "What happened between you two really affected Plankton. He's been diagnosed with autism because of it." Mr. Krabs' expression shifted, his eyes going wide with shock. He took another step back, his claws dropping to his sides. "What? Autism?" he echoed, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen stepped closer. "Yes Krabs," she said, her voice calm and patient. "The doctor said it's a result of the head injury he sustained during your fight." Mr. Krabs' face paled, his claws dropping to his sides. "I... I," he stammered, bravado gone. The room was silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Karen's unforgiving. Sponge Bob watched, his heart heavy with hope that his boss might understand. Mr. Krabs' eyes grew wide with horror as the realization sank in. The thought that he could have caused such harm to his longtime nemesis was to much to bear. He swallowed hard, his chest constricting with guilt. He looked at Plankton, really looked at him, for the first time seeing the fear and pain in his eye. Plankton was trembling, his antennae quivering with each shallow breath he took. Mr. Krabs took another step back, his chest heaving. "Autism?" he repeated. "Because of me?" The room was a silent witness to the crab's self-realization. The booming voice that had so often filled the Chum Bucket with threats and taunts was now just a faint echo of regret. Mr. Krabs stared at Plankton, his beady eyes shimmering with a mixture of horror and guilt. He had never seen the tiny plankton look so vulnerable, so broken. It was a stark contrast to the scheming genius he had always known. "I-I..." he stuttered, his claws trembling as he struggled to comprehend the gravity of his actions. Karen stepped forward, her voice firm but measured. "The doctor said it's because of the trauma to his brain you inflicted. It's all because of you! You did it." Mr. Krabs' eyes widened even further, and he took another step back. "But... but, I was just defending the Krabby Patty!" he protested weakly. Sponge Bob's gaze was steady on his boss. "It's more than that, Mr. Krabs. It's irreversible with no cure." Mr. Krabs' face fell, the implications of his actions finally sinking in. The magnitude of his recklessness was clear, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice small and desperate. Karen's gaze was steely. "You can start by giving him space. And maybe, just maybe, by being kind for once in your life." Mr. Krabs looked down at his claws, which had been poised for battle, now hanging limply at his sides. He nodded slowly, his eyes still on Plankton. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he said, his voice gruff. "I never meant to hurt ye like this." Plankton's antennae stilled. He wasn't sure what to make of Mr. Krabs' sudden apology. His eye searched the crab's face. "Mr. Krabs," he began, his voice still small but growing stronger. "I know Krabs didn't mean to... to make me like this." His antennae twitched slightly as he spoke. Mr. Krabs' expression grew soft, his eyes misting with tears. "But I can't take it back," he whispered, the weight of his guilt heavy on his shoulders. Suddenly, Plankton's tiny hand reached out, tentatively taking Mr. Krabs' large claw in his grip. The gesture was unexpected, his antennae quivering with the effort of reaching out despite his fear. It was a silent offering of peace, a bridge over the chasm of their rivalry. Mr. Krabs looked down at their joined hands with surprise. The warmth of Plankton's touch was a stark contrast to the coldness of his own heart, a reminder that despite their differences, they were all just creatures trying to navigate a complex world. The room held its breath as Mr. Krabs felt the tremble in Plankton's grip, a silent plea for understanding and compassion. It was a moment of unexpected connection, a reminder that even the most bitter of enemies could find common ground in pain and suffering. Mr. Krabs' eyes grew wet with tears, his hardened exterior cracking like a shell under the pressure of his guilt. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed the crab's words. He knew Mr. Krabs was capable of empathy, but rarely did it show. This was a side of him he had never seen before, and it was as overwhelming as it was comforting. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Mr. Krabs nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's hand in his claw. He took a deep breath, the weight of his apology heavy on his chest. "I'll leave you be," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. Plankton's antennae remained still, his grip on Mr. Krabs' clawed hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly withdrew it, his mind reeling from the exchange. Sponge Bob and Karen watched, their expressions a mix of shock and hope. Mr. Krabs nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. He knew that words alone wouldn't erase the pain he had caused, but it was a start. He took a step back, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his newfound understanding. "I'll leave you to rest," he said, his voice gruff but sincere. Plankton's antennae quivered with relief, and he nodded slightly. Mr. Krabs turned to leave, his steps heavy as he moved toward the door. But before he could exit, Plankton's voice stopped him. "Mr. Krabs," he called out, his tone firm but not unkind. Mr. Krabs paused, his claw on the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression a mix of hope and fear. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he gathered his thoughts. "I... I forgive you," he managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady. Mr. Krabs' eyes widened in shock, his claw frozen on the doorknob. He had never expected such words to come from his enemy's lips, especially not now, in the aftermath of such a life-altering revelation. He turned to face Plankton, his expression a tumult of emotions. "You... forgive me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "If you can change," he said, his voice firm but not unyielding. "Be better." Mr. Krabs' gaze searched Plankton's face, his own expression a mirror of the plankton's. "I'll try," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's antennae drooped in a gesture of defeat. "Just try," he murmured. "That's all I ask."

uℐ𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 <3ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾❦˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ᰔᩚβִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐R☆ckstar୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. 🎀˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ᰔওᰔᩚ>ᴗ<₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ 🤎౨ৎ˖ ࣪⊹˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚୨୧˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)ఌ︎.C⋆

18+

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY viii (Autistic author) After SpongeBob and Patrick left Plankton settled for his usual movie night. Karen took this time to call Sandy, her best friend, a gal pal. "Sandy, it's Karen," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I need to talk to you about something." On the other end of the line, Sandy's voice was warm and concerned. "Howdy! What's going on Karen?" "It's Plankton," Karen began. "He's... changed." Sandy's voice grew serious. "What happened Karen?" "Plankton had an accident," she said, her voice shaking. "He hit his head and... well, the doctors say he has autism now, and I thought I'd let you know." Sandy's voice was calm and understanding. "Oh Karen," she said. "I'm so sorry to hear that. How's he handling it?" Karen sighed heavily. "It's been... a lot," she admitted. "He's so focused on jellyfish now, and it's like nothing else matters. It's his whole world." "Wow, that's quite a change," Sandy said, her voice filled with empathy. "How's he been with social interactions?" "Well, that's the thing," she said. "He's been... different. Sometimes, it's like he's in his own little world. And other times, like with Patrick, he's just... really sensitive." "Patrick?" Sandy's voice was incredulous. "Patrick made fun of him?" "Well, not exactly. He just didn't understand," she explained. "He said jellyfish were boring, and it really hurt Plankton's feelings. The neurodivergence is irreversible, and he's still Plankton." Sandy's voice was filled with understanding. "But it sounds like he's found something that brings him a lot of joy." "Yeah," Karen agreed, her tentacles relaxing slightly. "But it's hard to watch him struggle, you know?" Sandy's voice was gentle. "I can imagine, Karen. But remember he's still the same Plankton at heart." The next day, Sandy arrived at the Chum Bucket, her burly squirrel arms holding a treasure trove of various miniature jellyfish figurines. She'd spent hours scouring the deepest parts of the ocean for the rarest and most detailed jellyfish models she could find. "Hi, Karen!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. Karen's eyes lit up at the sight of her friend. "Sandy, what's all this?" she asked, her tentacles waving in curiosity. "I heard about Plankton's newfound love for jellyfish," Sandy said with a grin, her cheeks red with the excitement of her discovery. "And I thought these might help him feel more connected. Where is he?" Sandy comes in. Plankton's sitting in the corner, his jellyfish book open on the floor in front of him, surrounded by a sea of scribbled notes and diagrams. His gaze didn't leave the page, but his posture straightened at the sound of a new presence in the room. "Plankton," Karen called gently, "Look who's here!" Plankton's antennae shot up as he looked over at Sandy, his eye widening at the sight of a box. "These are for you," Sandy said, setting the box down in front of him. Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he looked up, his monotone voice cracking slightly. "For Plankton?" Sandy nodded, her smile genuine. "I thought they might make you happy," she said, her voice gentle. "They're all different types of jellyfish. Each is unique and special, just like you." Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement as he reached for the box, his eye scanning its contents. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with wonder. "Thanks" Sandy watched as Plankton carefully removed each figurine, his eye lighting up with each new discovery. "You're welcome," she said, her voice warm. "I wanted to do something to support you in your newfound passion." Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each jellyfish. "These are... amazing," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with awe. Sandy chuckled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "I'm so glad you like them," she said, watching him closely. "They're from all over the ocean. Some of them are pretty rare." Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each figure. "Rare," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a new found enthusiasm. "Rare jellyfish." Sandy nodded, her eyes bright. "Yeah, some of them are," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "Do you have a favorite type?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he murmured. "The immortal jellyfish. It can revert back to its polyp stage and start its life cycle again." Sandy's eyes widened. "Wow, Plankton," she said, impressed. "That's really cool." Plankton looked up from the box, his antennae waving slightly. "You know jellyfish?" he asked, his voice monotone yet filled with hope. Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "A bit," she said, her tail swishing with excitement. "But I'd love to learn more from an expert like you." Plankton's antennae quivered with a hint of pride. "Expert," he murmured, his monotone voice cracking slightly. Sandy sat down next to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me more about them," she urged, her voice gentle. Plankton's antennae perked up, and he began to speak with a newfound energy. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he recited, his monotone voice cracking with excitement. "It's a jellyfish that can live forever. If it's injured or stressed, it goes back to being a polyp. It's like a rebirth." Sandy leaned closer, her eyes wide with fascination. "Really?" she said, her voice filled with wonder. "That's incredible!" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "Yes," he murmured, his monotone voice growing more animated. "Immortal jellyfish can survive forever. Plankton read in book." Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "That's so fascinating, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with genuine interest. "How do they do that?" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "When Turritopsis dohrnii is hurt, it goes back to polyp," he said, holding up a tiny figurine of the species. "Polyp is like jellyfish baby, but it's not baby. It's just jellyfish in different shape." Sandy nodded, her eyes glued to the miniature figures as Plankton spoke. "That's so amazing," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "I've never heard of anything like that before." "Jellyfish are fascinating," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly as he picked up another figurine. "This one," he said, holding up a mini model of a clear jellyfish, "is called a Burgessomedusa phasmiformis." Sandy's eyes lit up. "It's like a ghost jellyfish," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "I've read about these!" "Yes," Plankton murmured, his monotone voice cracking with pride. "They're very rare and very beautiful." Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "They are," she agreed, reaching for one of the figurines. "How did you learn so much about jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he paused in his examination of the ghostly jellyfish. "Plankton read book," he murmured. Sandy nodded, her eyes still on the delicate figurine. "What else?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. Plankton's antennae quivered as he searched his memory. "Book say... that jellyfish are ancient creatures, with some species over 500 million years old." Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "You really know your stuff. Can I ask a question?" Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Question," he murmured. Sandy took a deep breath, her eyes on the book. "What was the accident, Plankton?" she asked gently. "How did you hit your head?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, the excitement draining from his voice. "Krabs," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Angry." "What happened, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he looked up at Sandy, his eye wide with the memory. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a sudden urgency. "Mr. Krabs slammed cash register on Plankton's head, then Plankton woke up in hospital." Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes filled with concern. "Oh Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "Woke up," he murmured. "In hospital. Everything different." Karen looked at him, her expression gentle. "What do you remember?" Plankton paused, antennae quivering as he tried to piece together the jumbled memories. "Car," he murmured finally. "Long ride." "The hospital," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You were in a hospital for a bit after the accident." Plankton's antennae twitched as he nodded, his monotone voice cracking. "Yes, hospital," he murmured. "Doctors talked, but Plankton didn't understand." Sandy leaned in, her eyes filled with sympathy. "They told you about your autism?" she asked softly. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Karen said it's why Plankton thinks differently," he murmured. Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay to think differently, Plankton," she said. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Different," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of confusion. "But... Plankton good at jellyfish." Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "You are," she said, her voice firm. "And that's something amazing. Your brain works in ways that let you understand jellyfish better than anyone else." Plankton looked at her, his antennae perking up slightly. "Better than anyone?" he asked, his monotone voice filled with a hint of doubt. "Absolutely," Sandy said, her voice firm.

🤣339️⃣՞ ⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ ՞⸜ ♡ ⸝

clouds and white heart🫶

clouds and white heart🫶 clean girl

raneem🧿

x×ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

ok I have no clue whats happening but I feel like toad is being impersonated like what lunar said and who the he'll is Xi or whatever is sounds weird - active akemi member 🤫🧏‍♀️

Xi please shut the fuck up, ur being so immature and bitchy js shut up and sort it out with toad instead of posting like 10 post on emoji combos, like girl - active akemi members ✨️

𓁹 ✖

♡¢нℓσє уαρριηg ⋆˚࿔ ¢нℓσє 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸¢нℓσє ιѕ ∂σηє ησω вує!! ♡🍓♡♡..........♡.........🍓................😉🍏🍇ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

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kawaiicore, kitten, cute! 🦴,🎧,🍥.✩,ılıl

"This needs to be an app!!" It is guys it has an app>:D

⠀݂⠀✉️⠀֯⠀ ᮫⠀ ⛤⠀ׄ⠀ 𓍢ִ⠀܄⠀ʬ ⭑ ˙ 𓍯⠀ׄ⠀🌿﹔ ₜᵢₘₑ ᵢₛ ₛₚₑ𝓬ᵢₐₗ ᵳₒᵣ ₕᵤₘₐₙₛ, ₛᵢₙ𝓬ₑ ₜₕₑᵧ 𝓭ₒₙ'ₜ ₕₐᵥₑ ₐ ₗₒₜ. ᵢᵳ ₐ ₕᵤₘₐₙ ₛₚₑₙ𝓭ₛ ₜᵢₘₑ 𝔀ᵢₜₕ ᵧₒᵤ, ᵧₒᵤ ₐᵣₑ ₛₚₑ𝓬ᵢₐₗ ᵳₒᵣ ₜₕₑₘ.

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‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩☆✮✮⋆˙ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓💭💭✡

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