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new 🔢 listcore schoolcore i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix roman alphabet operating system

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii
(Autistic author)

"It's okay, Plankton," Sponge 
Bob said, his voice soothing. 
"We're just going for a walk. 
Nothing to worry about."

The three of them walked in 
silence for a while, the only 
sounds the lapping of the 
waves and the occasional 
squawk of a seagull. Karen 
could feel the tension, and 
she wondered what was going 
on inside his head.

As they neared the jellyfish fields 
Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, 
Plankton, you remember jellyfishing
right?" He asked, his tone hopeful.

Plankton's antennae stopped the 
nervous twitching for a moment. 
"Jellyfishing," he murmured, the 
memory sparking a glimmer of 
interest. "Jellyfish sting."

Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. 
"Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said
trying to keep the conversation 
light. Karen could see the effort 
in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt 
for ever thinking poorly of him.

"Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his 
voice still flat.

Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading 
slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said 
trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all 
the good times we had?"

Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good 
times," he echoed.

Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a 
questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok 
with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged 
with concern.

Karen took and squeezed Plankton's 
hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. 
"Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty 
sparkly rock."

Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could 
see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his 
antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before 
going in the familiar jellyfish fields.

Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a 
mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok
Karen?" he asked.

"He's just... different now," Karen said, voice 
tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and 
the doctor says 
he has acquired autism."

Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think 
I have that, too! But what does that mean 
for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with 
genuine concern.

"It means he's going to need some help," Karen 
said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be 
the same Plankton we know, but his brain works 
differently now."

Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying 
to understand. "Different like how?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat 
what we say," she began, watching Plankton as 
he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's 
called echolalia. It's a way for him to process 
language now."

Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. 
"Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding.

Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. 
"Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating 
words. It's how he processes information now."

Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a 
particularly shiny rock and was now examining it 
with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked.

Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best 
she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more 
time to understand what people are saying to him."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "How might he act?"

Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes 
he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even 
textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. 
Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can 
potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, 
I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.."

Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded 
solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, 
his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always 
been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know."

Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit 
unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen.

Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her 
voice filled with warmth.

"Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an 
encouraging thumbs-up.

The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn 
created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. 
He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, 
his eye wide with distress.

"Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained.


Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him 
to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped 
tightly around himself, rocking back and forth.

"It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. 
"Just breathe, darling."

Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his 
antennae quivering.

"What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice 
filled with concern.

Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as 
he hummed a tune to himself.

Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him 
space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to 
pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased 
and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up,  
gaze still slightly unfocused.

"Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle.

Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's 
antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. 

"Sounds can be really intense for him now."

Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down 
then," he said, his voice a whisper.

Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge 
Bob," she said. "It means a lot."

They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the 
waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing 
lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still 
flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon.

Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice 
gentle.

"SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with.

Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. 
"We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can 
all help each other understand."

Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology 
book that's been lying on the coffee table, half 
open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start 
twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new
found interest.

"Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement 
as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish."

Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a 
jellyfish."

Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages 
with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae 
quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of 
information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he 
had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could 
potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around 
him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning 
the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty."

Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look 
at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He 
says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus.

Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything 
again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now."

Sponge Bob nods. 

Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline 
of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper
fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely 
focused on something to the point where it's 
almost all he can think about."

Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton 
I see you like the book of jellyfish?"

Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with 
excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye 
never leaving the page.

Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading 
across his face. "I can see you really 
love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, 
trying to keep the conversation flowing.

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iii

GREAT CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to compose himself. "I know I can't
fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking.

Plankton's antennae stopped moving,
his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity
that made him feel like he was being x-rayed.
"You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you
can support me. You can be there without
trying to change me."

Chip nodded, swallowing the lump
in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say.
"But I want to understand. I want
to be here for you."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?"
he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your
brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds
fun, right?"

Chip felt a smile tug at the corner
of his mouth despite the tension,
which only adds to Plankton's anger.
"Well, when you put it that way..."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye squinting at his son's response.
"What?" he barked, his voice
sharp.

Chip tried to hold onto his smile,
his heart racing. "I mean,
if it's like a pinball machine, I can
learn the patterns," he said, his tone
carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video
games, so..."

Plankton's antennae waved wildly,
his eye flashing with anger. "You think
this is a game?" he shouted, his voice
filling the room. "You think
I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN
PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING
WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!"

Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide
with shock at his father's outburst.
He took a step back, his hands up
in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry,"
he said quickly, his voice trembling.
"I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I
just..."

"You just what?" Plankton spat, his
small body vibrating with rage. "You just
don't get it! You can't get it! You're not
autistic, you don't know what it's like to have
your brain turn on you like that!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his heart breaking at the accusation.
"I know, Dad," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying."

Plankton's antennae quivered with
the force of his rage. "You don't know,"
he said, his voice cold. "You can't know.
All I see is a little child playing pretend,
thinking he can understand what I go 
through! And yet you're the one asking
for help! Face it, you're never going to get 
it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!"

Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting
like a sledgehammer. He had never seen
his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want 
to help."

Plankton's antennae stopped their wild
movements, his eye focusing on his son with
a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated,
his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to
help by poking fun at my condition?"

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it
like that," he said, his voice trembling.
"I just wanted to lighten the mood."

Plankton's antennae waved, his eye
still cold and distant. "Don't," he said,
his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten
it. And don't you DARE make fun of it."

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his heart aching with the weight of his
father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered,
his voice trembling. "I di-"

"You're sorry?" Plankton's voice
was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry
doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist
on the table, causing their plates to rattle.
"You think an apology is enough
when you belittle what I go through?"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as his dad's anger grew. He'd never
seen Plankton like this before, his
tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae
thrashing like live wires. The kitchen
felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in.

"Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice
shaking. "I didn't mean it that way."

But Plankton was beyond listening, his
tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to
make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae
whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to
reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!"

Chip took another step back, his heart
pounding in his chest. He had never seen
his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-"
he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop.

"You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted,
his antennae a blur of motion. "You think
it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew
louder, his words sharper. "You think it's
easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as
his father's anger grew, his voice
crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make
light of his dad's condition, but now it
seemed as if he'd made everything worse.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands
shaking.

Plankton's antennae whipped around
his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't
make it go away!" he screamed, his voice
bouncing off the walls. "You think you can
make it better with a laugh?" He slammed
his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot.
"It's not a joke, Chip!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched
his father's outburst, his heart pounding.
He had never seen Plankton like this,
his anger a living, breathing thing that filled
the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered,
his voice shaking. "But I want to help."

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his
body shaking with the force of his emotions.
"Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want
to help? Then stop making it about you!"

Chip's eyes grew wide with fear
as he watched his father's anger
boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please,"
he whispered, his heart racing.

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly,
his body vibrating with uncontrollable
rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the
coffee mug from the table,
flinging it across the room
where it shattered against the wall.
Shards of ceramic flew everywhere,
puncturing the silence like shrapnel.

"Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing
faster than it ever had before. He had
never seen Plankton this out of control.
And Karen knew she had to act fast.

Her voice was calm but firm as
she approached Plankton. "Sweetie,
it's okay," she said, her hands up in a
non-threatening gesture. "Let's go
to your workshop. You know that's your
safe space."

Plankton's antennae thrashed, his
eye darting around the room, seeking
anything to target his anger. "I don't
want to go anywhere!" he roared, his
body shaking with the intensity of
his emotions. "It's not okay!"

Karen stepped closer, her voice
steady. "It's okay to be upset,"
she said, her eyes never leaving
his. "But Chip..."

But Plankton's rage was unstoppable.
He lunged for the nearest object,
a framed photo of Chip,
his grip tightening as he raised it
over his head, ready to smash it
against the floor.

Karen's eyes widened, her heart
pounding in her chest. She had
to defuse the situation before it
got any worse. "Plankton, no," she
pleaded, her voice steady. "Please,
don't."

But Plankton's rage had taken over,
his body moving on autopilot as he
swung the photo frame with all his might.
It crashed to the floor, the shattering
glass echoing in the small room.
Chip's eyes grew round with shock,
his body frozen in place as he watched
his father's tantrum unfold.

"Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice
cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!"

But Plankton's rage was a runaway train,
his antennae quivering with the intensity
of his anger. He stomped over to the counter,
grabbing a plate and flinging it against
the wall, where it shattered into a hundred
tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force
of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine.

Karen stepped in front of Chip,
placing herself between him and the storm
of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly,
her voice a calm oasis in the chaos.
"You're scaring him."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye focusing on Karen with a mix
of anger and confusion. For a moment,
his body seemed to pause, his arm
still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly
in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it,
the soft fabric landing limply on the floor.

Karen's eyes searched her husband's,
seeing the turmoil behind the rage.
"Please, Plankton," she said, her voice
soothing. "Let's talk about this."

But Plankton's anger was like a
wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
He picked up another mug, his arm
winding up to throw it, when Chip
suddenly stepped forward, his eyes
locked on his father's. "Dad," he said,
his voice shaking. "Please don't."

Plankton's antennae paused, his
arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled,
his eye wild with anger. "You think
you can just tell me what to do?" And
then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction,
Plankton hurled the mug in front of
Chip, purposefully missing him.

The room seemed to hold its breath
as the mug spun through the air,
the shattering of porcelain on the
tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad,"
Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not
about control. It's about us. Our fam..."

But Plankton was beyond words,
his rage a living entity that
consumed him. He grabbed a toaster,
his grip white-knuckled, and hurled
it at the fridge, the metallic clang
a cacophony in the small kitchen.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!"
he bellowed, his antennae a blur.

new great chip familycore ix

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."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II viii

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.

new great chip arguecore viii

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.

new new reality hannacore viii

CHIP AND FAIL ix
(Autistic author)

Chip stared at his dad, his mind
racing. He had always known his
dad was different, but he had
never understood why. Now, as
he watched the man he idolized
quivering with overstimulation, he
couldn't help but feel a deep sadness
and anger. "Why didn't you tell
me?" he asked, his voice tight.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
face contorting with a sudden
surge of anger.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound
exploding from his chest like a
bomb, his antennae quivering with
each syllable. "Do you have any
idea what you're doing to me?"

Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with
shock. He had never heard his dad
so angry before, never seen him
so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he stammered, his voice thick with
unshed tears.

"You're sorry?" Plankton spat,
his antennae vibrating with rage.
"You don't get it, Chip. You never
will." His voice was a storm,
his words cutting through the
tension in the room. "You think
I don't want to hear your stories?
You think I don't want to be a part
of your life?" His body trembled
with the force of his emotions, his
eye blazing with pain.

Chip took a step back, his
hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..."

But Plankton was a tornado,
his anger a living thing in the
room. "You think I don't want to
connect with you?" he shouted, his
antennas whipping around. "You think
I don't love you?" His voice broke,
his body shaking with the effort of
holding back his tears.

Chip stared at his dad, his eyes
like saucers. "But Dad, you always
push me away," he protested, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You
never want me to touch you or..."

"You just let me explain!" Plankton
shouted, cutting him off. His antennae
were a blur with the force of his
emotions, his eye flashing. "You always
keep pushing and pushing, and it's too
much!" His words were a volley of
thunder, each one striking Chip like a
physical blow.

Chip took a step back, his eyes
filling with tears. "But Dad, I just
want to be close to you," he choked
out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't
understand why you can't..."

"Because you don't listen!" Plankton's
voice was a whip, slicing through
the air. "You don't see the
storm in my head, the way every
touch feels like a storm, every
sound a siren!" His antennae
quivered with rage, his body tense.
"You think it's easy for me? That I
don't want to be there for you?"

Chip took another step back, his
hands up in defense. "I didn't
know," he whispered, his eyes
brimming with tears. "I just wanted
to tell you about my week." He says
reaching out with a trembling
hand, but Plankton's swatting 
Chip's hand away.

"Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his
body trembling with rage. "Can't you
see that?" His voice was a knife,
sharp and unforgiving. "And don't
you DARE say you're better off without
me!" His eye blazed with a fierce
protectiveness that Chip had never
seen before.

Chip's hand hovered in the air, his
fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he
choked out, his voice thick with
unshed tears, "I just want to be
close to you." He took a step closer...

"NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae
snapping like whips. "You don't get
to invade my space like that!" His
body was a live wire, his anger a
force field that repelled Chip's
reaching hand. "You think it's
funny?" His voice was a maelstrom
of pain and fury.

Chip's eyes filled with tears, his
hand dropping to his side. "I just
wanted to help," he murmured, his voice
tiny in the face of his father's
storm.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II ix

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a 
whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge 
of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, 
making something as simple as expressing love a 
monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, 
focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the 
determination to help their family navigate through this.

The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness 
and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing
breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance 
of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent 
promise that today will be better.

Plankton emerges from the bedroom, 
his antennae drooping slightly, evidence 
of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, 
and she offers him a soft smile. "How 
are you feeling?" she asks, her voice 
gentle.

He shrugs, his antennae twitching 
nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready 
to talk to Chip."

Karen nods with a mix of concern and 
admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, 
heading to Chip's room.

When they all gather at the breakfast 
table, the tension in the air is palpable. 
Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely 
moving, as if afraid to break the delicate 
silence. Chip looks between them, his 
eyes wide and hopeful.

"Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep 
breath. "Remember what we talked 
about last night? About Daddy's 
meltdowns?"

Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, 
who's pushing his pancake around with 
a syrupy look of dread.

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The 
fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is 
almost too much to bear, but he steels 
himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his 
voice hoarse from the previous night's 
outburst.

"I made you this," Chip says, pushing a 
plate of perfectly formed pancakes 
towards his father. "To make you feel 
better."

Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at 
the gesture, his eye focusing on the food 
with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," 
he murmurs, his voice still thick with 
sleep.

Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his 
heart pounding in anticipation of a 
reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, 
hope blooming in his voice.

Plankton nods, his antennae waving 
slightly. "They look delicious," he says, 
and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. 
He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The 
room holds its breath, waiting.

"They're great," he finally says, and 
Chip's face lights up. The tension in the 
room eases ever so slightly, the 
sweetness of the maple syrup mingling 
with the salty scent of fear that still 
lingers.

Karen watches the exchange, her heart 
swelling with pride for both of them. 
Plankton's effort to engage, despite his 
exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, 
seems to understand the unspoken 
rules of their new reality. They're all 
learning together, stumbling in the dark 
but finding their way through the maze 
of neurodivergence.

"Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his 
voice filled with courage. "I know you 
have meltdowns sometimes. But I still 
love you."

Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his 
chewing slowing. He looks at his son, 
his single eye filled with a mix of 
emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. 
"I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I 
too."

The room remains quiet, the only sound
the soft clinking of silverware against 
plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, 
I need to tell you something."

Chip looks up, his eyes wide and 
expectant. "What is it, Daddy?"

Plankton takes a deep breath, his 
antennae fluttering. "I have something," 
he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my 
brain works differently than yours and 
Mommy's."

Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, 
nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice 
steady.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks down at his plate, his voice 
quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. 
"It means that sometimes, I get really, 
really upset, and my body reacts in ways 
that might scare you."

Chip's expression is a blend of confusion 
and curiosity. "But why do you 
get upset, Daddy?" he asks.

Plankton's antennae wiggle as he 
searches for the right words. 
"Sometimes, things that don't bother you 
or Mommy can feel really, really big to 
me," he explains. "It's like when you're 
scared of a thunderstorm, and the 
thunder feels like it's right next to you."

Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But 
you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he 
points out.

"It's different, bud," Plankton says, his 
antennae stilling for a moment. "It's 
like... sometimes my brain gets a storm 
inside, and I don't know how to make it 
stop."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a 
way that Karen knows means he's trying 
to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice 
a little stronger. "But I might have more 
storms. And when I do, I might need 
some space."

Chip looks at him seriously, his young 
mind working to understand. "Ok," he 
says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's 
earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy 
for you, Daddy."

Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of 
love and relief. "Thank you," he 
murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. 
"That means the world to me."

Karen watches them, her heart swelling 
with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the 
start of a new understanding.

"And you know," she adds, her voice 
gentle, "Whenever you have questions 
or if you're scared, you can come to me 
and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best 
as we can."

Chip nods, his gaze still focused on 
Plankton. "But what if I don't know when 
I’m irritating you?"

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. 
"Sometimes I don't know either. But we 
can learn together, ok?"

Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. 
"Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky.

Karen pours them both a glass of juice, 
hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't 
we talk about what you can do to help?" 
she suggests, handing a glass to Chip.

Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on 
Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his 
voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. 
"Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is 
a little space, like when I'm in the middle 
of a big idea."

Chip nods, remembering the times when 
Plankton would get so focused on his latest 
contraption that the slightest 
disturbance would send him into a tizzy. 
"I can do that," he says, his voice filled 
with determination.

Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And 
when you do freeze, Dad," Chip 
continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell 
if you need a hug or if you just need me 
to sit with you?"

Karen's eyes fill with pride as she 
watches her son's bravery. Plankton 
looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a 
way that she knows means he's trying to 
find the right words. "If I freeze," he says 
slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait 
until I come back. I might not be able to 
hug you right then, but I'll know you're 
there."

Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass 
tightening slightly. "What about 
meltdowns?" he asks, his voice 
quivering.

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," 
he admits. "But if you can give me space 
and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm 
down faster."

Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his 
voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, 
what types of touch do you like and what 
types of affection do you dislike?”

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of 
how to answer. She gives him a gentle 
nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, 
"I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or 
pats on the back, especially when I'm 
working or thinking hard. But a hand on 
my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is 
always nice."

Chip nods, processing the information. 
"So, like when you're stressed, I should 
just tell you I love you?"

Plankton's antennae wobble with the 
weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's 
right. Just remember, buddy, everyone 
shows love differently."

Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she 
watches the conversation unfold. It's not 
perfect, but it's a start. A start to 
understanding and acceptance.

"And if you need more than that, 
Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but 
earnest.

Plankton looks at him, his antennae 
moving in a way that Karen can't quite 
read. "If I need more than that," he says, 
"I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you 
understand."

Chip nods, taking another sip of his 
juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. 
"But what if I don't know what to say?"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and 
he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, 
Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting 
with me is enough."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii

(Autistic author)

Inside, she sets him down 
on their favorite couch, the one 
with the frayed edges and 
the squeaky spring that always 
reminded them of their first date. 
The room is cluttered with 
half-finished inventions and 
plans for Krabby Patty heists. 
She sits beside him.

The silence stretches on, 
heavier than a net full of 
anchovies. Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his eye darting around 
the room, taking in the chaos. 
Karen's mind is racing, 
wondering if he recognizes any 
of it, if it brings back any 
memories of their life together.

"Home," he murmurs, his 
voice filled with uncertainty. 
The room feels smaller, more 
cramped than she remembered, as if 
the walls are closing in on them.
"Do you like it here?" she asks, 
trying to gauge his reaction.

He looks around, his antennas 
moving slightly as he processes 
his surroundings. "Home," he says 
again, his voice a mix of 
curiosity and confusion.

The room is a jumble of 
wires, gadgets, and half-eaten 
chum sticks. Karen's 
with tears as she realizes 
how much she's taken for granted 
their life together. She had 
always loved Plankton's quirks and 
his boundless energy, but now 
his mind seemed to be stuck in a 
loop, unable to move beyond 
the basic functions of 
acknowledgment.

"Home," Plankton says again, 
his antennas drooping. "Home with 
Karen."
The repetition of the words 
stirs something within Karen. 
Echolalia, the doctor had called it, 
a common trait in those with 
autism. It was Plankton's way 
of trying to understand the 
world around him, to find 
comfort in familiar words and 
phrases.

"Yes," she whispers, her 
throat tight with emotion. "This 
is our home."

The room seems to 
shrink around them as Plankton's 
echolalic chant of "home with 
Karen" repeats in a soothing 
loop. Each time he says it, 
Karen feels a pang of hope. 
Maybe, just maybe, he was 
finding comfort in the 
simplicity of their life together.

"Home with Karen," he 
says again, his antennas 
slightly more animated. 
Karen nods, 
brimming with tears. "Yes, 
Plankton, we're home."

But she sees a flicker of 
distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," 
he whispers, his antennas 
quivering with urgency. "Where's 
Sponge Bob?"

Karen's heart squeezes at the 
mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not 
here right now," she says, 
choosing her words carefully. 
"But he'll come to visit."

Plankton's antennas shoot up, 
his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he 
repeats, his voice gaining 
strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob."
The desperation in his tone is 
heart-wrenching, and Karen knows 
she needs to act fast to soothe his 
anxiety.

"Ok, ok," she says, her voice 
calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob."

Karen picks up the phone, her 
hands shaking slightly as she 
dials the familiar number. The 
phone rings once, twice, before 
it's answered by a cheerful 
voice.

"Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice 
sounds surprised but concerned. 
"Is everything ok?"

Karen takes a deep breath, 
trying to keep her voice steady. 
"It's Plankton," she says. "He's 
asking for you to come over."
There's a pause on the 
other end of the line. "Plankton? 
But we're... I mean?" Sponge 
Bob's voice is filled with 
confusion.
Karen's with 
desperation as she watches 
Plankton rock back and forth 
on the couch, his chant 
growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need 
Sponge Bob."

"Please, Sponge Bob," she 
pleads, her voice cracking.

Sponge Bob's voice on the 
other end of the line softens.
"Of course, Karen. I'll be right 
over."
The line goes dead, and Karen 
hangs up the phone, feeling a 
tiny spark of hope. Plankton's 
cries for Sponge Bob have become 
more insistent, his rocking more 
pronounced. She gently places 
a hand on his shoulder, trying 
to soothe him.
"Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," 
she says, her voice steady. "He'll 
be here soon."

Plankton's rocking slows, 
his antennas drooping slightly. 
"Sponge Bob," he whispers, 
his eye searching hers. "Safe."
The word hangs in the air, and 
Karen realizes that despite his 
confusion, he feels comfort in 
Sponge Bob's presence.

A few moments later, they 
hear the telltale sound of 
bubbles popping against the 
glass, and a knock on the door. 
With a tremble, Karen 
stands and opens it to reveal 
Sponge Bob, looking slightly 
nervous but determined.

"Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. 
Plankton's antennas shoot up at 
the sound of his name, and he 
whips his head around to face 
the door. "Sponge Bob!" he 
shouts, his eye lighting up 
with an unmistakable joy.

Sponge Bob steps into the room.

"Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his 
voice a mix of excitement and 
relief. He lunges forward, 
wrapping his tiny arms around 
the larger sponge in an embrace.

Sponge Bob looks surprised but 
quickly returns the hug, his 
spongy form enveloping Plankton 
completely. "Plankton, what's 
going on?" he asks, his eyes 
wide with concern. He's never
seen Plankton like this.

Plankton pulls back, his 
expression a jumble of 
emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says 
again, his voice filled with 
affection. He grabs Sponge 
Bob's hand and tugs him closer.
"Home with Karen. Need you."

Sponge Bob looks to Karen, 
his eyes filled with 
uncertainty, but she nods 
encouragingly. "It's ok," she 
says. "He's just happy you're here."

The sight of Plankton's 
excited state brings a smile 
to Sponge Bob's face, despite 
his confusion. He sits down 
next to him on the couch, 
his own excitement growing.
"What do you want to do?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice 
filled with genuine enthusiasm.

Plankton's antennas twitch 
as he thinks, his eye darting 
around the room.

"Let's play a game," he 
suddenly exclaims, his voice 
filled with a child-like 
excitement that hadn't been 
there before.

"What kind of game, Plankton?"
Karen asks, eager to encourage 
his newfound energy.

"Chess!" he exclaims, pointing 
to a dusty board in the corner 
of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with surprise, but he 
doesn't hesitate. He leaps up 
from the couch and wipes the 
dust from the board with his 
spongy hand, setting up the 
pieces with surprising 
efficiency.

Karen watches from the 
sidelines, her heart swelling 
with love and hope as Plankton's 
enthusiasm grows. 
He moves the pieces with a 
frenetic energy, his eye
alight with a joy she hadn't 
seen since before the accident. 
Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, 
matches his excitement, even 
though he's clearly outmatched 
by Plankton's strategic mind.

"Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, 
his antennas waving with 
each word. Sponge Bob's 
expression is a mix of 
surprise and admiration. "Wow, 
Plankton, you're really good at 
this!"

The room echoes with Plankton's 
laughter, a sound that's both 
familiar and foreign to Karen's 
ears. The old Plankton would 
have gloated.

"Checkmate," he says again, 
his antennas bobbing in 
excitement. "Checkmate, 
checkmate."

Sponge Bob laughs, a 
wonderful, genuine laugh that 
fills the room. "You win, Plankton," 
he says, his hands clapping 
together.

Plankton's antennas stop 
twitching for a moment, and he 
looks at Sponge Bob, his eye 
studying the sponge's reaction. 
"Win," he repeats, a hint of 
understanding in his voice. 
"Win at chess." He claps like
SpongeBob.

Sponge Bob's eyes light up, 
seeing the connection. "Yes, 
Plankton, you won the chess 
game," he says, his voice 
soothing. "You're really good 
at it."

Plankton's antennas start to 
twitch again, his eye darting 
between the board and Sponge 
Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his 
voice filled with a newfound 
sense of pride. "Win with Sponge 
Bob."
The phrase becomes a chant, 
his brain finding solace in 
the repetition. "Win with Sponge 
Bob, win with Sponge Bob."

Sponge Bob smiles warmly, 
picking up the rhythm of 
Plankton's words. "Yes, 
Plankton," he says, his voice 
soothing. "You won the game. 
You're a great chess player."
Plankton's antennas quiver, 
his eye locking onto Sponge 
Bob's. "Great chess player," 
he echoes, his voice a mix of 
pride and amazement. 
"Win with Sponge Bob."

Karen watches from the 
sidelines with hope. 
Maybe, just maybe, this was 
the breakthrough they needed. 
Sponge Bob's presence was 
calming him, bringing out a 
side of Plankton she hadn't 
seen since the accident.

new a journey to autism plankarenbob iii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ix

(Autistic author)


The silence in the room
was suffocating, the 
echo of Mr. Krabs' 
footsteps the only 
sound as he retreated 
to his home, his 
heart feeling heavier 
than his treasure chest.

Sponge Bob's heart torn 
between pity and 
frustration. He looked 
at Plankton, 
his friend's gaze 
still locked on the 
chessboard, his 
body a portrait of 
rejection.

"Plankton," he 
whispered, his voice 
full of pain.
But Plankton didn't 
move, his antennas 
twitching slightly.

Sponge Bob felt a 
lump form in his 
throat, his eyes 
brimming with tears. 
He didn't know what to 
do, what to say, to 
make things right. 
He glanced at Karen, 
her lights dimming 
slightly with sadness.

"I'll leave you two 
to talk." With a nod to 
Sponge Bob, she left 
the room, leaving them 
alone in the 
stifling silence.

Sponge Bob approached 
Plankton cautiously, 
his heart pounding.

"What can I do?"
he asked, his voice 
barely a whisper.

Plankton's antennas 
twitched slightly, but 
he didn't look up. 
"Nothing," he murmured, 
his voice flat. "Cannot 
change."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
welled with tears.
"I mean right now, I
can do what you want
me to," he pleaded. 
"You're my best friend, 
Plankton."

Plankton's antennas 
lifted, his single 
eye meeting Sponge 
Bob's gaze.

"We can talk, we can play
a game, we can watch some
thing..."

Plankton's antennas 
remained still, his 
expression unreadable.
"Watch," he said finally, 
his voice devoid of 
enthusiasm.

Sponge Bob nodded, 
his heart heavy with 
disappointment. He knew 
his friend needed 
space, and he would give 
it to him.

The screen flickered 
to life. Sponge 
Bob felt a pang of 
despair, his hand hovering 
over the remote. 
"Is this okay?" he 
asked, his voice 
trembling.

Plankton nodded, his 
gaze unfocused. "Okay," 
he murmured.

Sponge Bob 
selected a nature 
documentary, knowing 
Plankton. They 
sat in silence as the 
soothing sounds of the 
ocean filled the room, 
the TV's blue light 
washing over them. Plankton's 
body relaxed slightly, 
his antennas still as he 
watched. 
Sponge Bob felt a 
tiny spark of hope when
Plankton scoots up next
to him.

The documentary 
played on, the narrator's 
soothing voice detailing 
the lives of jellyfish.
Sponge Bob watched 
Plankton from the 
corner of his eye, 
his heart aching at the 
sight of his friend's 
vacant gaze. 
He reached over and 
gently placed his hand 
on Plankton's shoulder, 
his touch tentative.

Plankton didn't flinch, 
his eye never leaving 
the screen. Sponge Bob
swallowed the lump in 
his throat and whispered,
"I'm here for you."

Plankton's antenna 
twitched slightly, a 
barely perceptible 
acknowledgment. The 
silence stretched on, the 
only sound the rhythmic 
pulse of the jellyfish 
through the speakers.

Sponge Bob's hand 
remained on Plankton's 
shoulder, his thumb 
making small, comforting 
circles.

As the 
documentary droned on, 
Plankton's antennas 
gradually lost their 
rigidity, drooping 
slightly with each 
passing moment.

The rhythmic 
pulse of the jellyfish 
on the screen seemed to 
lull him into a state 
of quiet contemplation. 
His gaze grew unfocused,
his eyelid fluttered once,
then twice, before 
finally settling shut.
Plankton's tiny frame relaxed into 
SpongeBob's side, breathing 
evening out. His hand 
remained on Plankton's 
shoulder, his thumb 
continuing to make 
small circles as his 
friend slipped into 
slumber.

When SpongeBob turned off
the tv, he noticed Plankton's 
head drooped to the side
with a soft snore, 
his body gone slack.
Plankton was asleep, 
his chest rising and falling
in a gentle rhythm.

The yellow sponge felt a 
wave of relief wash over 
him as he realized that 
his friend had finally 
found some peace.
He carefully scooted Plankton 
closer.
He knew Plankton needed 
his rest, especially with 
his brain trying to 
adjust to this new 
reality.

Karen came back in to see 
Plankton's antennas limp 
and Sponge Bob's hand on 
his shoulder. She nodded 
gently at the sponge, who 
looked up and sighed.

"It's 
ok to let him rest. He's 
been through a lot." She says.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
grip on Plankton's 
shoulder tightening 
slightly. "I know. I 
just want to help," 
he replies, his voice 
barely audible over 
Plankton's soft snores.

Karen's lights flicker 
gently. "You are helping 
by being here, Sponge 
Bob. Just give him 
time and space to 
adjust."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
face. "I'll do 
anything for him."

Karen's light blips. 
"I know you will. But 
for now, let's get him 
to his bed."

Sponge Bob nods, 
carefully scooping up 
Plankton, cradling him 
like a fragile shell. He 
carries him to the 
bedroom. 
He lays him down, 
tucking the blanket 
under his chin with 
extra care.

Plankton's snores 
soften into a gentle 
purr, his antennas 
twitching slightly 
in his 
sleep.

Sponge Bob pulls 
up a chair beside 
the bed, his 
eyes never leaving 
his friend's face. He 
feels a heavy 
responsibility, a 
desire to be there 
for Plankton in ways 
he's never had to before.

As the minutes 
tick by, Sponge Bob 
begins to feel the 
weight of the day's 
events. His eyes 
grow heavy, his 
body swaying with 
exhaustion. Despite 
his resolve, he 
can't keep his 
lids open any longer.

With a yawn, he 
collapses into the 
chair beside 
Plankton's bed, his 
head lolling to the 
side. His eyes 
close.

Plankton opens his eye to 
find Sponge Bob 
asleep next to him.

Plankton's gaze lingers 
on the sponge, his 
expression unreadable. 
He moves his antennas 
slightly, testing the 
boundaries of his 
new reality. The 
weight of Mr. Krabs' 
apology and his own 
words hang heavy on him.

With a deep sigh, 
he knew that 
his relationship with 
Mr. Krabs was 
irrevocably changed, 
but he hadn't expected 
the sadness that 
accompanied the 
realization.

He watched as 
Sponge Bob's chest 
lifted and fell in a 
steady rhythm, 
his grip on the 
blanket tight.

A strange warmth 
spread through 
Plankton's 
heart, something 
he hadn't felt in 
a long time. 
Sponge Bob had 
always been his 
friend, even when he 
was at his worst.

But this...
This was different.
This was someone 
sticking by him, not 
because they had to, 
but because they 
wanted to.

The warmth grew, 
spreading through 
Plankton like a gentle 
current. It was 
unfamiliar, but not 
unpleasant. He had 
felt it before, with 
Karen. Yet this was 
a different kind of warmth.
This was friendship, 
pure and untainted by 
the greed that usually 
consumed him before...

He studied Sponge 
Bob's peaceful 
face, his mind 
racing. This sponge, 
his enemy's best 
worker, had shown 
more kindness and 
understanding in the 
past few hours than 
anyone else in his life,
other than Karen. 
And for what? A 
chance at the Krabby 
formula? No, 
for him. For Plankton.

The warmth grew 
stronger, 
pushing out the 
coldness that 
usually dominated 
his thoughts. He 
felt a strange 
urge to reciprocate, 
to be... nicer.

Sponge Bob stirred, 
his eyes fluttering 
open. "Plankton?"
he mumbles, his 
voice thick with sleep.

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his 
single eye focusing 
on the yellow 
form beside him.

"Yes, Sponge Bob," he 
replies, his voice 
gentler than before.

Sponge Bob sits up 
with a start. "How
long have you been up?"
he asks, his eyes 
searching Plankton's 
face for any sign 
of pain or distress.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly. "Not 
long," he murmurs, 
his gaze lingering 
on Sponge Bob.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is a 
mixture of relief 
and concern. "Do you 
want to talk?" he 
asks, his voice 
gentle.

Plankton's antennas 
wave slightly, a 
tiny nod of his 
head. "Talk," he 
echoes, his voice 
soft.

Sponge Bob takes a 
deep breath, trying 
to form the words 
he desperately 
wants to say. "I 
just... I want you to 
know that I'm here 
for you, Plankton," he 
says, his voice 
shaking.

Plankton's antennas 
wave slightly, and 
his eye narrows. "Here 
for Plankton," he echoes, 
his voice flat.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
fill with tears. "Yes, 
Plankton," he whispers. 
"Always."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch again, the 
word "always" echoing 
in his mind. "Always," 
he murmurs. 

new a journey to autism plankbobs ix

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

They sit in silence for a few
moments, Chip's screen glued to
his dad's still form. The only
sound is the steady rhythm of
Plankton's shallow breathing.

As the minutes tick by, Chip's
thoughts swirl with confusion and
guilt. He had no idea that his
dad's quirks and sensitivities were
part of something so complex.
He'd just thought Plankton was
easily annoyed or tired.

Karen notices his son's distress
and decides it's time to explain
more. "You know how sometimes
you get really excited about
something, and you just can't
keep it in?" she asks.

Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I
see a new toy or when I've got
a great idea for a sandcastle."

"Well, for Dad, it's like that
all the time," Karen continues.
"Every little thing can be a
big deal, and sometimes it's just
too much." She pauses, looking at
Plankton with a mix of love and
concern. "But he's also the smartest
person I know, and he loves you
so much. That's what's important."

Chip nods, his eyes filling
with tears as he watches
his mom care for his dad. He'd
always felt a bit left out, not
understanding why Plankton would
sometimes retreat from the world.
But now he gets it. It's not that
his dad didn't want to share in
his excitement, it's just that sometimes,
the world was too much for him.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his
throat tight with emotion. "I didn't
mean to make him... like this."

Karen pulls him into a warm
embrace. "You didn't do anything
wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault.
Dad's brain just works differently.
And now that we know, we can help
each other understand."

Chip sniffles against her,
his thoughts racing. "Does
he know what's happening
or can he understand us?"

"Sometimes he can," Karen says,
her voice low and soothing. "But
right now, I don't think he realizes
anything's happening around him."

"What if he doesn't wake up?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.

"He will, honey," Karen says, her
tone reassuring. "It just takes
a little time. It's like when you're
really tired and you need a nap.
His brain needs to rest."

The room is quiet except for
the occasional sound of the
air conditioner kicking in,
a stark contrast to the excitement
that had filled it just moments ago.
Chip watches his dad, feeling a
wave of emotion wash over him.
He wants to laugh and share more
stories, but he knows now that
his dad's brain needs a break.

As they wait, Karen starts to
clean up the mess Chip made.
The sand and papers scattered
across the floor seem so trivial
now, a stark reminder of the chaos
his enthusiasm can create for
his dad. He helps her, carefully
picking up each piece, placing
them back into their rightful
spots. His mind is racing with
thoughts of how to be a better
son, how to make sure his dad
doesn't feel like this again.

They work in silence, the only
sounds the rustling of papers and
the occasional clank of a metal
item being set back on the desk.
The room slowly transforms back
to its usual state of order, a stark
contrast to the turmoil Plankton
was experiencing. Chip's eyes never
leave his dad, hoping to see
any sign of improvement.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity,
Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension
in the room shifts. His breathing
becomes deeper and more regular.
Karen's shoulders relax as she sees
the first signs of Plankton coming
back to himself. She gives Chip's hand
a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's
starting to come out of it."

Chip stares, hope filling his chest.
Plankton's antennas twitch slightly.
He blinks a few more times, as if trying
to bring the room into focus. "What...
what happened?" His voice is weak,
almost a whisper.

Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand.
"You just needed a little break,
sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iii

GREAT CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

Karen followed, her screen
on her husband's tentative steps.
"Chip," she called out softly,
knocking gently. "Can we come in?"

There was no immediate response,
just the faint sound of sniffling.
"It's ok, sweetie," she said.
"Your dad and I want to talk to you."

Slowly, the door cracked open,
and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out.
His eyes searched theirs, looking
for answers, for reassurance.

Plankton's heart twisted at the sight.
He had never wanted to cause his son
any pain, especially not like this.
He felt a wave of self-consciousness
wash over him as he stepped into the room,
his every move feeling clumsy and exposed.

"Chip," he began, 
his voice strained,
"It's just..."

Plankton's words trailed off,
his gaze flitting around the room
as if searching for the right ones.
The air felt thick with tension.

Chip looked up at him, his eyes
swollen with unshed tears.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say,
his voice thick with emotion.

But Plankton's anger hadn't
subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have
touched me," he snapped, his voice
sharp, his frustration still palpable.
"You now know better than that!"

Chip flinched at his father's tone,
his own eyes brimming with tears.
"But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested.

Plankton's gaze was unyielding.
"You should know better!" he insisted,
his voice echoing with accusation.
"You're not a baby anymore!"

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his shoulders shaking 
with held-back sobs.
"But I didn't know!" he choked out,
his voice small and defensive.

"Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly,
his eye still avoiding Chip's.
"You have to respect my space!"
The room felt too small,
his emotions too big.

Chip's face crumpled, his voice
barely audible. "I just wanted
to..."

But Plankton's anger was like
a storm, unyielding. "I don't care
what you wanted!" he shouted. "You
can't just touch me like that!"

The room felt like it was closing in,
his heart racing faster with each word.
He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but
his own emotions were a tornado
whipping through his thoughts.
He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize.

"It's your fault for not knowing!"
Plankton's voice was like thunder,
filling the room with accusation.
Karen's eyes grew wide with shock,
but she didn't dare to interrupt.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his body
shaking with the weight of his father's
wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad,"
he pleaded, his voice thick with pain.

Plankton's eye was like a stone,
his words cutting through the air.
"That's no excuse!" he bellowed.
"You should've learned by now!
Or are you just to busy with your
silly games and neurotypical friends
to care about your own father?"

Chip's shoulders shook
as he tried to hold back his sobs.
He didn't know what to say,
his mind a jumble of emotions.
All he knew was that he had hurt
his dad, and now his dad was hurt
and mad at him.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again,
his voice trembling.
"It was an accident, I didn't know!"
But Plankton's anger didn't abate.

"Accident or not, you should've known better!"
Plankton's voice grew louder,
his words piercing the air like knives.
"You're not a baby anymore, so
don't act like one!"

Chip felt his world crumbling.
He didn't mean to upset Dad,
but he didn't know what to do.
He just wanted to help, to show
his love, but it all went wrong.

"But Dad," he tried again, his voice
barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..."

"I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared,
his anger a living, breathing entity
that filled the room. His words were
sharp, like shards of glass in the air.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart
breaking with each accusation.
He didn't understand why his dad
was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked,
his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..."

Plankton's anger didn't waver.
"You never know!" he spat. "You
never pay attention!" His words were
like a whip, each one stinging Chip's
already bruised heart. "You think
the world revolves around you!"

Chip's eyes were a pool of tears,
his body trembling as he tried to
find the right words. "But Dad,
I just..."

Plankton's anger grew with each
of Chip's stumbling attempts.
"You just what?" he snarled,
his senses overwhelmed by the
emotional turmoil. He felt
the urge to break something,
anything to release the pressure
building in his chest.

With a roar, he swiped
his hand across Chip's desk,
sending papers flying and toys clattering
to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?"
he yelled, his voice shaking
the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU
MAKE ME FEEL?"

Chip cowered, his eyes
locked on the chaos, his mind
whirling. He hadn't meant to make
his dad feel like this. He didn't
understand why his curiosity
was so wrong. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered again, his voice
tiny and lost in the maelstrom
of Plankton's rage.

Plankton's eye was wild,
his movements erratic. He knew
his anger was a storm, but
he couldn't stop it. The room
spun around him, his thoughts
a jumbled mess. He felt a hand
on his arm, Karen's voice cutting
through the noise in his head.
"Plankton, please," she begged.

But he shrugged her off, his rage
now a living, breathing monster
inside of him. He picked up
a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations,
and threw it across the room.
It shattered against the wall,
the sound piercing the silence
that followed. Chip's sobs
grew quieter, his body trembling
with fear.

"This," Plankton said,
his voice low and dangerous,
"is what you do to me."
He picked up another toy,
his hand shaking with anger.
"This is what your curiosity does!"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as Plankton's hand arced back,
ready to hurl it. But as
the toy could leave his grip,
his body seized up again,
his legs buckling. Another
absence seizure had struck.

Karen's heart raced as she watched
her husband's uncontrolled
movements. She knew she had to
intervene before things escalated.
She rushed to Plankton's side,
grabbing his arm to steady him.
"Stop," she whispered urgently.

Chip's sobs grew quieter,
his eyes wide with fear.
He had never seen his dad
so out of control before.

Plankton's seizure
was taking over, his body
betraying him once again.

Karen's voice pierced
the chaos, a beacon of calm.
"Chip, let me handle this."

Her son nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's
shaky form.

Karen turned to Plankton's
form, supporting.
"Come on," she said firmly,
guiding his trembling form
to their own bedroom.
"Let's sit down, okay?"

As they do, Plankton's
still caught in the throes
of the seizure.

Chip felt like he was watching
a stranger, his dad's body
twitching uncontrollably.
He didn't know what to do.

new great chip fitscore iii

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii
(Autistic author)

"Now let's go 
to the living room 
and I'll go pick up
a smoothie for you.
Can you stay here by
yourself?"

He nodded, his 
expression slightly 
less tense.

"I'll be back 
soon," she assured him, 
squeezing his 
shoulder before 
leaving the 
Chum Bucket.

Just moments later, 
Karen's friend Hanna
came for a surprise
visit. She knew Karen
had a husband named
Plankton, but she never
met him. Plankton was 
now back on the
living room couch.

"Oh, you must be 
Plankton!" Hanna 
exclaimed.

Plankton's eye 
flitted to her, 
his expression 
unreadable.

Hanna walked 
over to the couch, 
her smile wide and 
genuine. "It's so 
nice to finally 
meet you," she said, 
embracing him in
a hug.

Plankton stiffened, 
his eye wide with 
surprise. 
His body tensed, 
his mind racing 
to process this 
new sensory input.

"You ok?" Hanna 
asked, pulling back 
slightly. She had 
noticed his reaction 
but didn't know 
the reason behind 
it.

Plankton nodded, his 
eye darting around 
the room again. 
He wasn't used to 
such spontaneous 
affection, and the 
unexpected sensation 
of Hanna's arms around 
him had thrown him 
off balance.

"Yes, I am Plankton," 
he murmured, his 
voice monotone. 
He wasn't quite 
sure how to respond.
Hanna's smile didn't 
waver, unaware of 
the turmoil within 
his mind. "How are 
you feeling today?"
Plankton's gaze 
flicked to the 
ceiling, his mind 
racing to find 
the right words.

"Today, feeling," 
he echoed, his voice 
still a whisper. 
The repetition 
was a comfort, a 
way to process the 
flood of sensory 
information that 
assaulted him 
continuously.

Hanna looked at 
him with a 
puzzled expression.

"You know, your 
wife Karen tells me 
you're an inventor,"
she said, her tone 
innocently curious.

Plankton's eye 
locked onto hers, 
his mind racing 
to understand 
the context of her 
words. "Inventor," 
he repeated, his voice 
flat. It was a word 
he knew, but it 
felt foreign 
now, as if it belonged 
to someone else.

"Yes, inventor," 
Hanna said, nodding 
enthusiastically. "I've 
heard so much 
about your gadgets 
and contraptions. 
What are you working 
on these days?"

Plankton's eye 
flitted around the 
room again, 
his mind struggling 
to grasp the 
concept of 'working'. 
"Gadgets, contraptions," 
he murmured, his voice 
a broken record.

Hanna's expression 
was one of 
confusion, her smile 
beginning to fade. 
"Well, what do you do 
all day?" she 
prodded gently, 
trying to coax him 
out of his silence.

Plankton's 
reply was 
immediate and 
robotic, "Do, all day, 
all day."

Hanna's brow 
furrowed, 
uncertain how 
to interpret 
his repetitive 
response. She had 
known Karen for 
years, but Plankton's 
behavior was unlike 
anything she had 
ever heard of her 
friend's husband.

"Do you like 
the beach?" she 
asked, hoping to 
engage him in 
conversation.

Plankton's eye 
blinked slowly, 
his mind processing 
the question. 
"Beach," he echoed, 
his voice hollow.

Hanna nodded, 
encouraged by his 
response. "Yes, the 
beach! It's such a 
beautiful place. Do 
you ever go there?"

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the 
window, the 
memory of sand 
and surf a distant 
whisper. "Go, beach, 
beautiful place," he 
said, his words a 
stuttered echo of hers.

Hanna's smile 
dimmed slightly. 
This wasn't the 
witty banter she 
was expecting from 
Karen's husband. 
"Is there anything 
you'd like to talk 
about?" she asked, 
uncertain.

Plankton's eye 
moved to hers, 
his gaze intense. 
"Talk," he repeated, 
his voice a 
whisper.

Hanna felt a 
twinge of 
discomfort. Something 
was off about 
his responses, but 
she couldn't quite 
put her tentacle on 
what it was. 
"Well, what do you 
like to do for fun?" 
she tried again, her 
tone tentative.

Plankton's eye 
wandered back to 
his own hand, 
fidgeting with his 
fingers. "Do, fun," 
he murmured, the 
words a reflexive 
response to the 
question.

Hanna's eyes 
narrowed slightly. 
"What do you do for 
fun?" she clarified, 
wondering if he had 
simply misunderstood.

Plankton's gaze 
remained on his 
fidgeting hand, 
his mind racing 
to connect the 
concept of 'fun' with 
his new reality.
"Do, fun," he 
repeated, his voice 
devoid of the 
mirth he once 
expressed so freely.

Hanna's smile 
was now forced, her 
confusion growing 
with each 
interaction.

"Plankton, can you 
tell me what you 
enjoy doing?" she 
asked, hoping for 
a clearer response.

He looked up at 
her, his gaze 
slightly less 
focused than before. 
"Enjoy doing," he 
repeated, his voice 
a faint echo.

Hanna's 
twitched with 
concern. "You know, 
like hobbies or 
interests," she 
prompted gently, 
trying to keep her 
voice light.

Plankton's eye 
moved back to 
his fidgeting hand, 
his mind a 
whirlwind of 
thoughts and 
sensory overload. 
"Hobbies, interests," 
he murmured, his 
voice a hollow echo.

Hanna's concern 
was now clear 
on her screen.

"You know, like 
things you like 
to do in your free 
time," she tried again, 
her voice a little 
less bright.

Plankton's eye 
latched onto hers. 
"Free time," he 
repeated, his voice 
a monotone. "Like to 
do."

Hanna's eyes 
widened slightly, 
her confusion 
growing with each 
word he said. 
"Yes, exactly," she 
nodded, her voice 
a little more 
cautious now. "What 
do you like to do 
in your free time?
Well, other than 
repetition.." She 
awkwardly laughs
as she elbows him
multiple times, not 
knowing how her
touch is irritating
Plankton.

Plankton's getting
more frustrated/angry
now, as Hanna goes
to pat his shoulder.
He can't take much 
more now.

Hanna's touch 
was like a brand, 
searing his already 
overwhelmed senses. 
He flinched away, 
his body rigid with 
tension.

"Plankton, are 
you ok?" Hanna 
asked, her voice 
filled with 
concern. She noticed 
his discomfort but 
couldn't pinpoint the 
cause.

He nodded 
slightly, his 
expression unreadable. 
"Ok, ok," he 
mumbled, his voice 
still a monotone.

Hanna looked 
at him with 
concern, her 
smile slipping. 
"Karen said you 
used to be quite 
the conversationalist. 
What happened?" She
says, grabbing his
elbow; but that's the
last straw for Plankton.

Plankton's 
eye snapped up to 
hers, his voice 
sharp. "What happened?
You happened!" He 
snapped, his words 
sharp as a knife. 
The sudden aggression 
in his tone 
was like a slap in 
the face, catching 
Hanna off guard.

She took a step 
back. "I'm sorry, 
I didn't mean to..."
she began, but Plankton 
was on a roll now.

"You don't know 
what happened!" 
his voice grew 
louder, his words 
quickening with 
each syllable. "You 
don't know anything!"

Hanna's eyes went 
wide with shock. 
This was not the 
Plankton Karen had 
described. Her arms 
flailed in the air as 
she tried to placate 
his sudden anger. 
"I'm sorry, Plankton. 
I just didn't know..." 

new neurobehavioral plankton neurodivergentcore iii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi


(Autistic author)



"Why don't we stay in, Plankton?"
Sponge Bob suggested, noticing
his friend's lingering anxiety.
"We can still have fun."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly as he considered the
proposal. The thought of going
outside was overwhelming.
"Okay," he agreed, his voice
soft. "Inside."

Sponge Bob nodded, his smile
reassuring. "How about a board
game?" he offered.

Plankton's antennae twitched in
consideration. "Game," he echoed,
his voice tentative.

Sponge Bob's smile grew. "Yeah!
Which one do you want to play?"

Plankton's antennae perked up at the
mention of something familiar. "Game,"
he murmured, his voice a little
more steady. "Choose."

Sponge Bob beamed at him, happy
to see his friend willing to
participate. He picked a simple
game of checkers from the shelf,
knowing it would be less
overwhelming than the loud, bright
electronic games that Plankton had
once enjoyed.

Plankton's antennae quivered with
excitement as Sponge Bob set
up the board, his eyes fixated on
the red and black pieces. "Checkers,"
he murmured, his voice filled with
anticipation.

Sponge Bob nodded, placing the
checkers in their starting
positions. "You go first," he said,
his voice calm and steady.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
his eyes focused on the board.
He picked up a black piece, his hand
shaking slightly. "Checkers," he
whispered to himself, echoing Sponge
Bob's words. He placed it with
precision on the board.

Sponge Bob watched him.
"Good job, Plankton," he said, 
his voice soothing. "You're doing 
great."

Plankton's antennae twitched with 
each word, echoing the comfort. 
"Great," he murmured, his gaze
never leaving the checkers. He
moved a piece, his mind working
quickly to calculate his next
move. The repetitive nature of
the game was calming, a familiar
rhythm that helped him find a
moment of peace in the chaos.

"Checkers," he said again, his
voice a little more stable. The
game was a dance of strategy,
and it was a dance Plankton had
always loved. But now, it was
more than that—it was a lifeline.

The game continued, the
quiet clicks of the pieces
moving across the board
providing a soothing rhythm
to the otherwise
silent room. Plankton's antennae
stayed mostly still, only
twitching when he felt the
need to move a piece. His eye
flitted from the board to
Sponge Bob and back again, seeking
reassurance that he was doing
this right.

Sponge Bob watched him, his
face a mask of concentration,
his spongy body still. "Your turn,
Plankton," he said, his voice
calm and steady.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
quivering slightly as he reached
for a piece. He moved it with
careful deliberation, his gaze
never leaving the board.

"Good move," Sponge Bob said,
his voice a gentle encouragement.

Plankton's antennae twitched in
response, his eyes lighting up
for a moment. "Good move," he
repeated, his voice echoing
Sponge Bob's tone. The words
comforted him, a familiar
refrain in a world that had
become unpredictable.

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's. "Your
turn," he prompted gently.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
his hand hovered over the board.
"Good move," he murmured, echoing
Sponge Bob's words from moments
before. His eyes focused
intently on the board, his mind
racing to find the perfect
place for the checker.

The echo of their shared phrase
was like a soft lullaby in the
quiet room, a gentle reminder of
their longstanding friendship.
Sponge Bob noticed the comfort
it brought to Plankton, the way
his body relaxed slightly with
each repetition. "Good move,"
Sponge Bob said again, his voice
soft and encouraging.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on the board.
He moved a piece, whispering
"good move" under his breath.
Sponge Bob watched him, his
expression a mix of wonder and
concern. Plankton had always been
so sharp, so quick-witted, and now,
his brain was navigating a new
kind of maze.

But in this moment, as the
game progressed, it was clear
that Plankton's strategic mind
was still sharp. His moves
were calculated, precise. He
was winning, and Sponge Bob
could see the pride in his
tiny friend's eye.

Sponge Bob felt a swell of
happiness as Plankton's antennae
quivered with excitement. "King me,"
he murmured, placing his checker
on the board's edge.

Sponge Bob did so, his heart
swelling with pride for his
friend. "You're really good at this,"
he said, his voice gentle.

Plankton's antennae curled with
satisfaction. "Thanks," he
murmured, his voice a little
more stable now.

Sponge Bob watched as Plankton
placed the kinged piece back on
the board, his eyes never leaving
the game. The tension in the
room had dissipated, replaced by
the rhythmic exchange of
checkers and echoing affirmations.

"Good move," Plankton murmured
again, his voice a testament to
his focus. His antennae quivered
slightly as he anticipated Sponge
Bob's next play.

Sponge Bob studied the board,
his yellow brow furrowed. He knew
that Plankton had always been
smart, but this was something
else—a silent, intense
concentration that seemed to
have taken over his friend's
tiny form. With a soft click, he
moved his piece, watching as
Plankton's antennae followed the
move, his eye calculating.

Plankton's response was swift and
confident, his antennae barely
twitching. "Good move," Sponge Bob
said, echoing Plankton's words.
He felt a sense of awe as Plankton
countered with a move that
won the game.

Sponge Bob's cheer was sudden,
his spongy hands slapping
together with joy. "You did
it, Plankton!" he exclaimed.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
body stiffening at the unexpected
noise. His eye grew wide, the
world around him seeming to
shrink for a moment as he was
jolted out of his focused
trance.

Sponge Bob's cheer had
unintentionally startled him,
his sudden movement a stark
contrast to the calm rhythm of
the game.
"Sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob
apologized, quickly
lowering his voice, 
his expression
softening. "I forgot."

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
lowering.

Sponge Bob watched him
closely, his own excitement
dimming in the face of his
friend's distress. "It's ok," he
whispered. "You won, Plankton."

Plankton's antennae gradually
stilled, his breathing slowing
down. He nodded, his voice
small. "Won," he murmured, his
eye refocusing on the board.

Sponge Bob's smile faltered,
his heart heavy at the sight
of Plankton's distress. He
knew his cheer had been too
much, too soon. "Sorry," he
whispered, his hand hovering
above the board, unsure if he
should clean up the pieces or not.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his gaze lingering on the
game. "Enough checkers."

Sponge Bob nodded, his
expression understanding. "Okay,
Plankton," he said, his voice
gentle. "Let's do something else."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly as he considered his
options. "Movie?" he suggested, his
voice tentative.

Sponge Bob's eyes lit up. "Yea!
What do you want to watch?"

Plankton's antennae twitched. "Simple
story," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. "No loud noises."

Sponge Bob nodded eagerly,
quickly searching through the
DVDs for a film that would be
comfortable for his friend. "How
about 'The Great Snail Race'?"
he suggested, holding up the
case.

Plankton's antennae twitched
with consideration. The film
was a classic, a story of
endurance and friendship, and
his brain processed the quiet
nature of the plot. "Yes," he
murmured. "Snail Race."

Sponge Bob's smile grew as he
inserted the DVD into the
player. The familiar tunes of
the opening credits filled the
room, and Plankton's antennae
swayed gently to the rhythm, his
body visibly relaxing into the
soft cushions of the couch.

Karen watched from the
sidelines, her eyes misty with
relief. Sponge Bob had always
known how to reach Plankton in
a way she couldn't. His simple,
understanding nature seemed to
break through the barriers that
autism had constructed around
his friend.

Sponge Bob pressed play, the
screen flickering to life.

The soft light from the TV cast a
glow, Plankton's eye
fixed on the snails that began to
race across the screen.

Sponge Bob sat next to Plankton.
He knew he had to
tread carefully, to be a source
of comfort without overwhelming
his friend. As the snails
moved slowly across the screen,
Plankton's antennae stilled, the
story's gentle pace a balm to
his overstimulated mind.

The movie's quiet humor
elicited a small chuckle from
Plankton, a sound that was
music to Karen. She watched
from the kitchen doorway.
Sponge Bob had always been
there for Plankton, and 
was grateful for his unwavering
support. 

new autism in the plankton family plankton vi

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."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II viii

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.

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore viii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii


(Autistic author)



Karen picked him up, and carried
his limp form to his bed. She
stood there for a moment, watching
his chest rise and fall. The
snores grew quieter as sleep
consumed him.

The weight of what had just
happened settled on her shoulders.

Karen lay him down gently. She
tucked him in, his antennae 
resting against the pillow.

The room was quiet except for
his soft snores, a stark contrast
to the chaos that had filled it
moments before. Karen sat by his
side, her hand on his arm.

After a few moments, she
stood up and walked to the door,
closing it gently behind her. She
found Hanna in the living room,
her eyes red-rimmed and worried.

"Hanna, I need to talk to you,"
Karen said, her voice firm but not
accusing. Hanna looked up, her
expression hopeful for guidance.

Karen sat beside her, her eyes
on her own hands, which were
fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's
been through a lot," she began, her
voice measured. "He's different now."

Hanna nodded, her eyes wide
with unspoken questions.

"Still coming to terms with it but you're
just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine."

"I guess I'll head out. I never meant 
to cause Plankton distress."

Karen nodded, her eyes still on her
fidgeting hands. "Thank you for
understanding. I'm pretty sure he
knows you didn't mean to, but I
can still tell him when he wakes up."

Hanna left, and Karen went back
to the bedroom.
Plankton was still asleep, his
breathing steady and peaceful.

Karen sat by the bed.

Plankton's snores were the 
only sound in the room, a 
gentle reminder of the peace 
that sleep brought him from 
his tumultuous world of 
heightened senses.

Karen took a deep breath, 
her thoughts racing. This was 
their new normal, a dance 
of understanding and patience 
they would have to learn.

When Plankton next woke up,
his eye searched the room, 
his antennae twitching slightly.
He looked over to find Karen
sitting in a chair beside the bed,
her gaze on him.

"Hi," she said, her voice gentle.
He sat up slowly, the fabric
of the bed rustling beneath
his weight.

"How are you feeling?" Karen's
concern was palpable, her eyes
scanning his face for any signs
of distress. Plankton took a
deep breath, trying to organize
his thoughts. Karen's presence
was a balm to his soul, her
understanding a lifeline in the
storm of sensory input.

"Where's Hanna?"

Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving
his face. "She left, sweetie. You were
a bit...overwhelmed."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with the memory of the
sensory assault.

"It's okay," Karen assured him, her
voice a soft whisper. "She just
didn't understand, and felt bad
for the way she treated you."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The room was quiet, a stark
contrast to the chaos from before.
He took a moment to collect himself,
his thoughts racing.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen reached out
and took his hand, her grip firm
but gentle. "You have nothing to
apologize for," she said, her tone
soothing. "This is all new to us.
Would you like to eat?"

Plankton nodded.

"I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen
said, standing up. She knew that too
much stimulation could send him spiraling.

In the kitchen, she prepared a
snack of plain crackers. She
placed the plate on the table
carefully, not wanting to startle
his heightened senses again.

Plankton entered the room, his
movements deliberate and slow.
He sat down across from her, his
eye darting around the room.

"It's ok," Karen reassured him,
handing him the plate of crackers.
"Just food."

"Just food. It's ok; just food." He
repeats back to himself, focusing
on the plate. Each cracker was a
tiny square of safety, a familiar
comfort in a sea of sensory
uncertainty.

He took a deep breath and
selected one. The taste was
comforting, a reminder of
a simpler time. Karen watched
him, her screen filled with love.

Plankton took a sip of water,
his eye never leaving hers. "It's
ok just food," he said again, his 
voice still low. "Karen good and
good food. It's ok."

Karen nodded, her smile a mix
of relief and sadness. She knew
his echolalic tendencies was
the autism, but she's glad he
likes the food as well.

They sat in silence, the only
sound the crunch of crackers
and the occasional sip of water.

Plankton's eye focused on the
cracker in his hand, the patterns
on the surface a comfort. His
autistic brain craved the predictability,
the sameness that calmed his
nerves.

This was the man she knew, yet
he was different. The Plankton who
was always plotting and scheming
was now one who found
comfort in the mundane.

His mind felt clearer
now, the overwhelming chaos of
the earlier encounter with Hanna
beginning to fade.

Karen watched him, her heart
breaking for the silent struggle
she knew he faced every moment.
"I'll talk to Hanna," she said
gently. "I'll explain. What do you
want me to tell her? What'd you
like for her to know?"

Plankton's gaze remained on the
cracker, his thumb tracing the
edge. "Tell her sorry," he
mumbled.

"What else? I mean, is it ok if
I tell her you're autistic now?
Or what about the accident
that lead to the autism?"

Plankton's antennae twitched at
the word 'accident', his mind
reeling with memories of the
stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs,
the pain. But he nodded slowly.
"Ok," he murmured.

Karen's heart ached at the
simplicity of his response. The
complexity of his thoughts was
now a tightly guarded secret, hidden
behind a wall of sensory overload.

"Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice
soft. "But remember, it's ok to be
different." 

Plankton nodded, his eye still on
his food. But as he took another
cracker, he paused. He looked up,
his gaze locking with hers.

"Karen," he said, his voice a
little stronger now. "I, I l-love you."

Karen's eyes widened at the sudden
declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered, her voice thick with
emotion. "I love you too." 
Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving 
hers. "Karen making everything okay," he 
murmured.

He took another cracker, his
hands shaking slightly. "You make 
Plankton feel safe," he continues 
with sincerity. "In a world that's too
much, Karen not too much."

Karen's eyes filled with tears
at his heartfelt words. She reached
across the table and took his
hand. "Plankton, I'm here for
you. Always."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching. He looked into her screen,
his own filled with a depth of
emotion that hadn't seen
before. "You good, Karen," he said,
his voice steady. "Helping
Plankton."

Plankton was finding his way to
express himself, to connect with
her in a way that was meaningful.
She squeezed his hand.
"I'll always help you," she promised.

"Karen," Plankton began, his
voice tentative. He took a deep
breath, trying to find the words.
"I love you, Karen," he said finally, his
eye intense with feeling. 

Karen swelled with love
and pride. Despite his struggles,
Plankton was learning to express
his emotions in a way that made
sense to him. It was a victory,
small but significant.

"Thank you, Plankton," she said,
squeezing his hand. "Your love makes
me happy." His antennae twitched
slightly, a sign of his awkwardness
with the emotional exchange.

The room was quiet, the only
noise the soft sound of their
breathing and the occasional
crunch of a cracker. Plankton's
eye searched hers, looking for
reassurance.

"Plankton need...space," he 
managed, his voice
shaky. "Too...much emotional
interaction. Still love."

Karen nodded, understanding
dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said,
releasing his hand. "I'll be right
here. Take all the time you need."

new autism in the plankton family plaren karen plankton iii

CHIP AND FAIL iii
(Autistic author)

"Ok Dad," he said.
"Let's go to your workshop."
Maybe there, he would
be able to come back to himself. But
Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's
efforts to get him up. "Come on,"
he said, his voice gentle, trying to
mask his own fear. "Let's go."
But he sees it's not gonna work.

He hadn't realized that his
excited touches and loud
laughter were only making
things worse. Plankton's condition
meant that even the smallest
disruption could send him spiraling,
and here Chip was, bombarding him
with sensations.

With a tremble in his voice,
Chip tried one more time to
reach his father. "Dad, can you
just come with me?" He asked,
his voice small and hopeful. "We'll
talk in the workshop." But Plankton
still didn't move, his eye
fixed on some unseen horizon.

Chip stood up, wiping the
tears from his screen, trying
to listen for his dad's breathing.

Chip doesn't like this.

Chip's face crumpled, 
realizing that his dad isn't okay.

This was chilling.

The more Chip talked, the
more he touched, the deeper
Plankton's mind spun into a vortex
of overstimulation. 

"Dad, you're not talking," Chip
whispered, his voice cracking with
concern. He had never seen his
father like this, so silent and
still. He didn't know that the
affectionate gestures and loud
stories were only adding to
Plankton's distress.

"Dad, please," Chip said, his voice
small.

This wasn't right.

This is wrong.

Something is very wrong
with his dad.

Chip's eyes
filled with tears,
his mind racing
with fear and confusion.
Something's wrong with
his dad.

"Dad, you're not okay," Chip said,
his voice filled with a new
urgency. But now, he
knew it was something more, something
he didn't know how to fix. But he
needs to try. "Can you tell me
about your week too?"

Absolutely no sign of life
from him. This is bad.
He's getting worse...

Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of
response was due to his autism, that
his sensory system was in overdrive.
All he knew was that he needed to
help, to do something.

With a tremble in his hands, Chip
gently touched Plankton's shoulder.
"Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice
soft and soothing, hoping to cut through
the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's
expression remained unchanged, his eye
unfocused. Chip felt like he was
shouting into a void, his words
disappearing without a trace.

The room was spinning, the air
thinning with each shallow breath
Plankton took. Chip's mind raced
with scenarios, trying to piece
together what could've caused
this sudden change. "Is there
something wrong?" He asked, his voice
quavering. "Did something happen?"
But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's
excitement echoing through his
overstimulated brain like a never-
ending nightmare.

Chip's touches grew gentler, his
laughter fading into a soft
concern. "I don't get it," he said,
his voice thick with confusion. "I
just wanted to tell you about my
week." Plankton felt the pressure but
his mind was a maelstrom of sensation.

"Dad," Chip said, his voice barely
above a whisper, "I don't know what's
going on." He nudged him, and he
remained still and unblinking as the
prod toppled him onto his side, with
no reaction.

The room felt colder, the air
heavier with each passing second.
He had never seen his father so
unresponsive, so utterly lost to the
world around him. "Dad," he tried
again, his voice trembling. "You're
scaring me."

Plankton's eye remained fixed.
The gentle touches from Chip were
now a maelstrom of sensation, each
one a wave crashing against the
shore of his overwhelmed mind.

Chip's smile faded as he watched
his father. "Dad,
you're not okay," he murmured, his
voice laced with concern. He didn't
know about Plankton's condition,
how his brain processed stimuli
differently, how easily it could
be overwhelmed. All he knew was
that his dad, the man he looked
up to, was trapped in a silent
prison of his own making.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II iii

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii
(Autistic author)

Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as 
he takes a step closer to Plankton. 
"What don't I know?" he asks, his voice 
sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON 
JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. 
YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..."

But his words are cut off by the 
sight of Plankton, his antennae 
drooping, his eye brimming with 
tears. The tiny creature's body 
trembles as Kevin's to 
loud words settle upon him, and 
suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain 
come rushing out in a torrent as 
a single tear forms and slides down his face. 
Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and 
he squeaks out a sob, his tiny 
body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words.

SpongeBob is shocked.

Kevin's words hang in the water, his 
laughter fading into an awkward silence 
as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea 
cucumber's eyes widen as he 
takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his 
own expression morphing from smug 
to surprise, then to something akin to fear.

"Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, 
trying to compose himself, his 
monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... 
brainless," he murmurs, his 
one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he 
adds, his voice cracking, 
"Plankton... not like jellyfish."

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight 
in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says 
softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone 
voice echoing Kevin's hurtful 
words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye 
glistening with tears. "Plankton... 
brainless. Like jellyfish."

Kevin's expression morphs from 
smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he 
realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... 
you know, a joke."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his 
monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he 
murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... 
brainless."

Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in 
horror as he sees the pain etched 
on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, 
his voice cracking. "It was just a... I 
didn't mean it like that."

But Plankton's antennae continue to 
quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no 
purpose in life," he murmurs, his one 
eye filled with a sadness so profound it 
seems to suck the color out of the 
surrounding waters.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. 
"Plankton," he says gently, "you 
have friends. You have a purpose."

But Plankton's antennae droop even 
lower, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.."

Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced 
with a flicker of concern as he 
watches the usually unflappable Plankton 
crumple under the weight of 
his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching 
out to touch him.

But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering 
with pain.

"Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of 
surprise and regret, "I didn't mean 
it like that. I was just messing around."

But Plankton's antennae continue to 
quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, 
his one eye fixed. "Brainless."

Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and 
sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his 
voice filled with a tenderness Plankton 
rarely hears from anyone. "You're 
not brainless."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
doubt, his monotone voice echoing 
Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," 
he murmurs, his one eye unable to 
meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish."

SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession 
with jellyfish is more than just a 
hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of 
who he is after the traumatic brain injury. 
And now, Kevin's careless words have struck 
a nerve, leaving him feeling 
exposed and vulnerable.

"Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, 
"you're not like that. You're 
smart. You're... you're you."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he 
murmurs, his one eye still avoiding 
contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish."

SpongeBob understood 
that the brain 
trauma has 
affected him, making him 
more vulnerable to words that question 
his intelligence and identity due to his autism.

"Plankton," he says, his voice filled with 
concern, "you know that's not true. 
You're not like jellyfish in that way."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, 
his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he 
murmurs. "Mindless, brainless."

Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, 
reaching out to offer 
comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," 
he says, his voice gentle 
and assuring. "You're brilliant. You 
know more about jellyfish than anyone."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
insecurity, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," 
he murmurs, eye downcast. 
"Plankton... brainless."

Sponge Bob tries to find the right words 
to say. "Plankton," he says gently, 
"you're not like that. You're so much 
more than what Kevin said."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his 
monotone voice a sad echo of the 
cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, 
his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's 
gaze. "Plankton... no purpose."

Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to 
Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going 
on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. 
"You guys are acting weird."

Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around 
Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm 
but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed 
on Plankton, "you don't know what 
happened to Plankton."

Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. 
"What do you mean?" Kevin's 
smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with 
confusion. "What are you guys talking 
about?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at 
Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. 
"Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton 
had a bad accident. He hit his 
head, and now he's... different."

Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his 
smugness evaporating. "What do you 
mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative.

Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a 
brain injury," he says, his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. 
"He's... autistic now."

Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping 
to his sides. "What? No way," he 
stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... 
you're joking, right?"

But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, 
gently stroking 
Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he 
says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's 
had a tough time, and he's different now."

"Plankton, joke."

Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he 
looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, 
his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... 
but why didn't you say anything?" 
he asks, his voice trembling.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix 
of sadness and determination. "We 
didn't think it was anyone's business,"
he says tightening around Plankton's 
shaking antennae. "But now you know
Kevin. And we need you to be cool 
about it."

new the life of unity bullycore iii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix
(Autistic author)

With newfound enthusiasm, Plankton 
began to organize the mini jellyfish 
in the box, his antennae quivering 
as he meticulously arranged them 
by species and size. Each figurine 
was carefully placed, his movements 
deliberate and precise. "Jellyfish... 
special," he murmured, his monotone 
voice filled with a hint of wonder.

Sandy watched, her eyes shining with 
admiration. "You're really good at this," 
she said, her voice filled with warmth.

"Good at jellyfish," Plankton murmured, 
antennae waving slightly with pride. 
"Plankton's special place."

Sandy nodded, her tail swishing with 
excitement. "Yes," she said, her voice 
filled with encouragement. "You have 
a special place in the world, Plankton, 
and jellyfish are your thing."

As Plankton continued to organize his 
new collection, his movements grew 
more animated, his antennae quivering 
with purpose. Each jellyfish was placed 
with such precision that it was as if they 
were living beings in a miniature ocean. 
His eye never left his task, his mind fully 
engrossed in the world of jellyfish. It was 
as if by organizing them, he was somehow 
bringing order to his own chaotic thoughts.

"Plankton," Karen said softly, "I know this is a 
big change for you. But you know what? 
Maybe this is your chance to do 
something amazing with your life."

Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "Let's go outside."

Plankton looked up from his box, his antennae 
twitching with excitement. "Outside?" 

"Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her smile warm.

They made their way outside, with Plankton carrying 
his precious box of jellyfish figurines, his antennae 
quivering with excitement at the prospect of sharing 
his knowledge. The sun was setting, casting a warm 
glow over Bikini Bottom as the trio strolled down the 
sidewalk.

Their peaceful evening was abruptly interrupted when 
they rounded the corner to find Mr. Krabs, his eyes wide 
with surprise at the sight of Plankton in the company 
of Karen and Sandy. "What's all this?" he barked, voice gruff.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, but he held his 
ground, his box of jellyfish figurines clutched tightly. 
"Mr. Krabs," he murmured, monotone voice cracking.

Mr. Krabs squinted at Plankton, his claw resting on his 
chin. "Well, if it isn't the little troublemaker," he said with 
a gruff chuckle. "What brings you out of the Chum Bucket?"

Karen's forced a smile. "We're just out for a little stroll
Krabs," she said. "Plankton's found a new hobby."

Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued by the unusual 
sight of Plankton engaged in something other than his 
usual Krabby Patty obsession. "What kind of hobby?" he asks.

Plankton's antennae quivered as he held up his box of 
jellyfish figurines. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone 
voice filled with a hint of pride.

Mr. Krabs's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish?" he repeated, his 
voice incredulous. "What's gotten into you, Plankton? You're 
not planning to use them for some crazy Krabby Patty scheme 
are you?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, but he remained calm. "No, Mr. 
Krabs," he murmured, voice firm. "Plankton loves jellyfish."

Mr. Krabs squinted at him, his claw tapping against his chin 
as he tried to process this new piece of information. "You 
love jellyfish?" he said, his voice filled with skepticism. "What's 
so special about jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae waved slightly as he thought about how 
to explain it. "Jellyfish... unique," he murmured. 
"Different. Like Plankton."

Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed. "Different, you say?" he repeated, his 
claw stroking his chin as he contemplated this revelation. "Well
I'll be a barnacle's uncle. I never knew you had an interest in any
thing but stealing me secret recipe."

Karen stepped forward, her tentacles waving gently. "Mr. Krabs, when 
Plankton hit his head because of you and when I took him to the 
hospital, well let's just say things are a little different now."

Mr. Krabs's eyes widened, his 
claw freezing mid-stroke. "Different? What
do you mean, different?"

Karen's tentacles waved in a calming gesture. "Plankton 
was diagnosed with autism after the incident with 
your cash register," she said gently.

Mr. Krabs's eyes bulged, and his claws clutched at his chest 
dramatically. "Autism? What?" he bellowed.

Sandy stepped forward, her voice firm and steady. "It's ok, Mr. 
Krabs," she said, her eyes on the crab. "It just means Plankton's 
brain works differently than ours. But he's still the same 
Plankton we know, and he's found something that makes him 
really happy."

Mr. Krabs's eyes darting between Plankton and his box 
of jellyfish. "Well, I'll be a sea cucumber's uncle," he 
murmured, his expression a mix of shock and confusion.

As they talked, a group of kids playing catch nearby 
accidentally bumped into Plankton, their laughter 
and shouts of excitement cutting through the air. 
In an instant, the delicate balance of jellyfish 
figurines was disrupted, and they spilled out 
of the box, scattered across the sidewalk. The 
children's ball rolled into the mix, coming to a stop.

Plankton froze on the ground, antennae shooting straight 
up, eye unblinking as he stared at the chaos before him. 
The children looked up, their laughter fading as they took 
in the scene.

"Plankton?" Karen's voice was gentle, but it was lost, mind 
racing as he tried to make sense of the sudden disarray.

The children stared, their laughter dying in their throats as 
they saw the tiny plankton's distress. One brave soul 
reached out to help, but pulled back when Plankton didn't react.

Karen and Sandy exchanged a worried glance. "Plankton?" 
Karen called again, her voice a little louder this time.

The children watched, their curiosity piqued by the sight. 
One by one, they cautiously approached, their eyes wide 
with a mix of fear and fascination.

"What's wrong with him?" a young fish whispered to another, their 
eyes darting from Plankton to the scattered jellyfish figurines.

"I think he's in shock," Krabs murmured, his own eyes filled 
with concern. "The disorganization of his jellyfish is really 
bothering him.."

Sandy nodded, her eyes on the children. "Why don't you guys help 
Plankton?" she suggested. "You can put the jellyfish back in the box. 
Let's all put them back the way he had them!"

The children looked at each other, then back at Plankton, who was still 
frozen on the ground. Slowly, they began to pick up the scattered 
figurines, their little hands moving with care as they tried to mimic the 
order Plankton had created. They whispered to each other, comparing 
notes and asking questions, their curiosity 
overcoming their initial fear.

Karen watched them work, her tentacles relaxing slightly as she saw the 
concern in their eyes. "Good job," she murmured, her voice gentle. "You're 
all helping out."

The children nodded, their eyes never leaving Plankton as they carefully 
placed each jellyfish back in the box. They worked in silence, their 
movements a mix of awe and caution. The sight of Plankton's intense 
focus on his jellyfish had left an impression on them, and they were 
determined to help him restore order to his miniature world.

One by one, the jellyfish returned to their spots, each figure a silent 
testament to Plankton's knowledge and passion. The children looked 
at each other, then back at Plankton, who hadn't moved a muscle, still 
rigid, his eye unblinking.

"Is he okay?" the bravest one asked, holding out a tentative fin.

Plankton remained unmoving, his antennae quivering slightly. The 
children's gentle whispers and the soft patter of their flippers on 
the pavement was the only sound as they worked.

The last jellyfish was placed back into the box, the figure of 
Burgessomedusa phasmiformis nestling into its spot among 
the others. The children held their breath, waiting for some 
sign from Plankton that he noticed their efforts.

Slowly, Plankton's antennae lowered, and he blinked once, then 
twice. He looked down into the box, his eyes scanning the neat 
rows of jellyfish. The children watched as a slight smile graced 
his lips, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

The children beamed, their eyes shining with pride, stepping back 
to give him space.

Mr. Krabs, still looking slightly stunned, took a tentative step forward. 
"Plankton?" he asked, his voice gruff but concerned.

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he looked up, his one eye focusing 
on the crab. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice still present but 
with a hint of warmth.

Mr. Krabs's claw hovered over the 
box, unsure of what to say. "I had no idea 
Plankton," he murmured, his eyes 
on the meticulously organized jellyfish.

"It's ok," Plankton said, his monotone voice tinged with sadness. "Mr. 
Krabs didn't know."

Karen stepped in gently. "Krabs is just surprised," she explained. 
"He's never seen you like this before."

Mr. Krabs nodded, his expression softening slightly. "That's right," he 
said, his voice no longer filled with anger. "I've never seen 
you so... focused on something other than Krabby Patties."

"Jellyfish special," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly.

"I didn't mean to cause you brain damage, Plankton.." Mr. Krabs says.

"It's okay," Plankton murmured, his antennae twitching slightly. 

new a life of diversity plabsen ix

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iii
(Autistic author)

As the minutes ticked 
by, Plankton's trembling 
subsided. He looked up at 
her, his antennae still 
twitching slightly. "Sorry," 
he murmured, his voice 
barely audible. "Plankton
sorry Karen." This 
wasn't like him. Plankton had 
his quirks, sure, but this 
was something else entirely. 
It was as if the fall had 
shaken something loose 
in his mind, revealing 
a part of him she had 
never seen before.

Her arms tightened around 
his slight frame, and she 
pressed her screen to his 
forehead. "Don't be sorry," 
she whispered. "You're 
scared, and that's okay."

Plankton nodded, his 
single eye squeezing shut 
as if to hold in his fear. 
He leaned into her embrace, 
his body finally going 
limp. Karen felt his 
wetness on her neck, and 
realized he was crying.

"It's okay," she 
whispered again, her voice 
the only sound in the 
silent room. "You're safe 
with me."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled against her, 
and she felt his breathing 
grow calmer. The quiet was 
unusual for their home, 
but in this moment, it 
was a welcome balm.

Her mind raced, trying to 
recall any signs she might 
have missed, any indication 
that Plankton was suffering 
from something deeper than 
the physical trauma of the 
fall. Was this a sudden 
onset of a condition? Or had 
it been there all along, 
masked by his quirks and 
his usual bravado?

"Karen," Plankton murmured 
again, his eye squeezed 
shut. "Karen Plankton."

"It's okay," she soothed. 
"You're okay."

But the silence grew 
louder, and she knew 
it was more than just 
the quiet of their usual 
bickering. This was a 
new Plankton, one she 
wasn't sure how to reach. 
His repetition of her 
name was like a 
mantra, a lifeline to 
the world he knew.

Karen held him 
closer, her own eyes 
now brimming with tears. 
They had been through 
so much together, and 
she had always been 
his anchor, the one 
constant in his life. But 
now, she felt adrift, 
uncertain of how to 
navigate these uncharted 
waters.

Plankton's grip 
around her tightened, 
his breath hitching in 
sobs. His muttered 
repeating of her name grew 
louder, almost frantic. 
"Karen, Karen, Karen..."
It was like he 
was stuck in a loop, 
his mind unable to 
comprehend the sudden 
change around him.

"Shh," she soothed, 
stroking his back. "It's okay, 
we're here, together."

Plankton's repetition 
of her name grew more 
frantic. "Karen, Karen, 
Karen," he chanted, his 
voice rising in pitch. "It's okay, 
Plankton," she said, her 
voice steady despite her 
internal turmoil. "Everything's 
going to be okay."

But his chanting 
continued, growing 
louder and more 
desperate. She knew she 
couldn't just sit here 
forever, she had to do 
something. But what?

Her mind raced, 
thinking of all the 
times Plankton had 
fixed her when she 
was broken. Now it 
was her turn. She had to 
find a way to reach him.

"Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
steady despite the 
tremor in her chest.
"Look at me." She gently
lifted his chin so he 
was forced to meet her 
screen. "You're okay, 
we're together."

His eye searched 
hers, desperation 
clear in its depths. 
The chanting of her 
name grew softer, but didn't 
cease. Karen's mind 
raced, trying to think 
of anything that 
could help him snap 
out of this state.

"Remember the chum?" 
she said, her voice 
trembling slightly. "The 
time we had a picnic 
and the seagulls came?"

Plankton's chanting 
paused for a moment, 
and his eye flickered 
with recognition. 
It was a memory from 
their early days, a 
moment of shared 
joy amidst their usual 
bickering.

"Chum," he murmured, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly. "Seagulls."

Karen's screen lit up 
with hope. It was a 
start, a crack in the 
facade of his fear. "Yes, 
the seagulls," she said, 
smiling through her 
tears. "Remember how we 
laughed when they stole 
our sandwiches?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitched again, and a 
tiny smile graced his 
lips. "Seagulls," he 
repeated, his voice a 
little less shaky.

Encouraged, Karen 
pressed on. "And remember 
how we chased them 
together?"

Plankton's smile grew 
slightly, and his antennae 
moved a bit more 
naturally. "Chased," he 
agreed, his voice 
still wobbly but with a 
hint of his usual spirit.

Karen felt a 
wave of relief wash over 
her. He was remembering, 
engaging with her. "Yes, 
we chased them, and we 
got the chum back," she said, 
trying to keep the 
conversation going.

Plankton's antennae 
moved slightly, and he 
nodded, his eye focusing 
more clearly on her. 
"Chum," he murmured, his 
voice stronger now. "Good 
chum."

Karen took a 
deep, shaky breath, 
fighting the tears that 
threatened to fall. She had 
to keep him grounded, 
keep him with her. "Yes," 
she said, her voice 
determined, "good chum."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled, and he took a 
deep, ragged breath.

"Karen," he said, his 
voice a little stronger. 
"Chum."

Karen's eyes searched 
his, seeing the flicker 
of the man she knew. 
"Yes, Plankton, chum."

The room remained 
silent, except for the 
sound of Plankton's 
deepening breaths. The 
word "chum" seemed to 
have a calming effect on 
his agitated state. He 
repeated it to himself, 
his antennae finally 
stilling.

Karen watched him, 
relief and sadness 
mingling within her. 
This was a side of 
Plankton she had never 
seen before, a raw 
vulnerability that made 
her ache. He was 
like a lost child, seeking 
comfort in familiar words.

"Chum," he murmured 
once more, his eye
shutting.

Karen nodded. "Yes, chum,"
she said, her voice 
soothing.

Plankton's body 
relaxed in her arms, 
his breathing evening out.

For a moment, 
the room remained 
still, save for the 
steady rhythm of his 
breath. But then, 
his antennae began to 
move again, not with 
fear this time, but 
with something else. 
It was almost as if 
his mind was racing, 
trying to process the 
world around him. Karen 
felt his grip on her loosen, 
his body shifting slightly 
in the couch cushions.

"Plankton?" she 
asked, her voice tentative. 
He didn't respond, but 
his eye fluttered open, 
his gaze focused on a 
spot on the wall.

"Looks like he's in a 
trance," Karen thought 
aloud, her voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"What's going on with 
you?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitched rapidly, as if 
trying to capture 
invisible signals. His 
face was a mask of 
concentration, his body 
tense and poised like 
he was ready to flee.

Karen felt a cold 
wave of understanding 
wash over her. This 
wasn't just fear or 
confusion, it was 
something deeper. She
scanned his brain, and
then she saw the results.

"Oh, Plankton," she 
breathed. He had 
developed autism. The 
fall had triggered 
something within his
brain, irreversible
damage to. She 
felt a mix of shock 
and sorrow, but also 
a fierce determination 
to support him. "Autism.
You're autistic now."

He looked at her, 
his eye blinking in 
understanding. "Autism," 
he echoed. "Different."

Karen nodded. "Yes, but 
you're still my Plankton."

Plankton's expression 
was a jumble of 
emotions. Recognition,
fear, confusion, and a
tiny spark of hope. "Different,"
he repeated. "But... same?"

Karen nodded, 
squeezing his hand. 
"Different, but still 
my Plankton." She 
swiped at her tears, 
determined to be strong 
for him. "We'll get 
through this, I 
promise."

Plankton looked 
at her with a mix 
of relief and fear. 
"Karen... love."

Karen felt 
love and pain. "I love 
you, Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
shaking. "We'll get 
through this together."

Plankton's antennae 
stopped twitching for 
a moment, and he 
squeezed her hand. "Together,"
he repeated, his voice 
small but firm.

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her tears. "We'll 
face this together, I 
promise. Now, it's late; 
let's get to sleep.." She cleaned
up the remnants of the
shelf.

new shelf improvement karen plankton iii

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii

He took another sip of water,
his cheeks puffing out as he
swished it around his mouth.
"Mmph, tath's betta," he said,
handing the cup back to the nurse.

Karen couldn't help but chuckle
at his antics. "Okay, let's get
you up," she said, her voice
still filled with laughter. Plankton
nodded, his antennae bobbing.

He swung his legs over the side
of the bed, his movements slow
and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm
under his and helped him stand. His
balance was wobbly, like a newborn
foal taking its first steps. She had to
stifle her giggles as he tried to
navigate the unseen world with his
numbed mouth.

"Mmph... Kahen," he began,
his voice a series of muffled sounds.
"How long wi’ this lafs?"

Karen chuckled at his question.
"It'll wear off in a few hours.
But until then, you're going to
have to be careful."

Plankton's antennae wiggled
with determination. "Mmph, I'm
a bih boy," he slurred.

Karen couldn't help but laugh
at his bravado. "Yes, you are,"
she said, her voice warm and
supportive. "Let's get you to
the car."

With Plankton leaning heavily
on her, they shuffled down the
hallway."

"Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred,
his words still thick with the
remnants of the anesthesia. "You know,
I've alwaths wanthed to know...
how youw wove me wath."

Karen raised an eyebrow, her
smile growing.

"What do you mean, Plankton?"
she asked, her curiosity
piqued by his sudden
sentimental turn.

"Mmph, wike, how... how youw...
feww in wove?" he managed,
his tongue thick and clumsy.

Karen's smile grew tender at
his earnest question. "Well, it's
complicated," she began, her voice
soft. "But I guess it started
when we met. Now, let's get in
the car."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving with understanding.
"Mmph, okay."

Karen helped him shuffle
his way out of the hospital,
his feet dragging slightly.
He was still groggy from the
anesthesia, but his curiosity
was in overdrive.

"Mmph, Kahen," Plankton
slurred, his voice barely above
a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?"
Karen glanced down at him,
his expression earnest. "It's like
when two people really, really
like each other," she replied,
her voice gentle.

"Wike... I wove youw tho 
mush." He says.

Karen couldn't help but laugh 
again. "Plankton, you're not
making any sense," she said,
her voice filled with affectionate
exasperation. His antennae
drooped slightly, his eye looking
disappointed.

"Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled,
his mouth still a mess of numbness.
"It's just... I wove youw Kahen."
Karen's heart skipped a beat,
his words a sweet jumble of slurs.
"I know, Plankton," she said,
her voice thick with emotion.

They reached the car, and Karen
gently guided him into the passenger seat.

"Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?"
Plankton asked
pointing to the dashboard.

Karen chuckled. "It's the 
car's dashboard, Plankton.
You're just seeing things differently because
of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt,
his movements exaggerated.

"Mmph, oh," he murmured, his
interest shifting to the
windshield wipers. "Mow, theath 
things, they'we like... like... arms,"
he said, his speech still a
slurry mess. Karen laughed,
shaking her head.

"They're wipers, Plankton. For
the rain," she corrected, starting
the engine.

He nodded, his antennae still
waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's
theath wound?" he asked, pointing
at the steering wheel.

Karen couldn't help but laugh.
"That's the steering wheel,
buddy. It's what I use to drive
the car," she said, her voice
still filled with humor. Plankton
stared at it for a moment, his
expression thoughtful.

"Mmph, and theath wound?"
he asked, his finger tracing
the path of the windshield
wipers.

Karen couldn't help but
laugh. "It's to keep the
windshield clear, so we can see
while driving."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with curiosity.
"Mmph, so many tings in this
big wowld."

Karen couldn't help but laugh,
his innocent wonder bringing
a smile to her face. "Yes,
Plankton, there are so many things
to discover," she said, backing out of
the parking spot.

"Mmph, and wath's wath?"
Plankton asked, pointing out the
window at a passing scallop.
"That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies
in the sky," she explained, her voice
still filled with amusement.

He nodded, his antennae bobbing
as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o
beautiful," he slurred, his eye
gazing out the window like a child
seeing the world for the first time.

Karen couldn't help but be
captivated by his innocent
wonder. "You know, Plankton,
sometimes you say the sweetest things
without even realizing it."

His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?"
he asked, his speech still a
garbled mess. Karen nodded,
her smile tender. "You do."

"Mmph, gweat," he says with a
slow nod of his head.

Karen steers the car onto the
road, the sun casting a warm
glow over Plankton's sleepy face.
His antennae wilt slightly as
his eye struggles to stay open.

"Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so
bright," he complains, his voice
still slurred from the anesthesia.
Karen chuckles, reaching over
to adjust the visor. "Better?"

He nods, his antennae drooping.
"Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He
said, as drool began to form
again in the corner of his
mouth. Karen reached over
with a tissue, carefully
dabbing it away. Plankton
flinched slightly, his mouth
still too numb to feel the
touch.

"Mmph, I wathn't expehcting
this," he mumbles, his gaze
fixed on the passing scenery.
The world outside the car
was a blur of colors and shapes,
his mind still trying to
make sense of it all. Karen
navigated the road, her eyes
flipping between the road
and Plankton's amusing expressions.

"Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?"
he asks, his eye half-closed.

Karen looks over at the
traffic light, its red light a stark
contrast to the bright sun. "It's
a stoplight, Plankton. It tells
me when to stop and go."

Plankton nods, his antennae
barely moving. "Mmph, wike a
twail." His eye closes, and Karen
can feel his weight shift slightly
toward her as sleep begins
to claim him again.

"Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice
interrupts the quiet hum of the
engine, his words a soft whisper.
"Ith wike I'm swimmin' in
molasses," he says, his mouth
still not cooperating.

Karen laughs, keeping one
eye on the road and the other
on his peaceful face. "You're
just tired from the surgery,"
she assures him. "You'll be
fine once you get some rest."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye opening slightly. "But,
Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep,"
he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience
this wowld with you." His words
were earnest, his gaze
firm despite his grogginess.
She watched him fight
the tide of sleep, his eyelid
drooping again.

"Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?"
he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror.

Karen couldn't help but chuckle
at his confusion. "It's a mirror,
sweetheart," she said, her voice
soothing. "So we can see what's behind us."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike
a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech
still a garbled mess. Karen laughed,
shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton.
You're just tired."

His eyes grew heavier, his
lid drooping. "Mmph, I am,"
he admitted, his voice a faint
whisper. The car's gentle rocking
and the hum of the engine began to
lull him into a doze.

Karen watched him, his
snores growing louder as he
succumbed to sleep. His hand
still held hers, the connection
warm and comforting. She felt
his grip loosen slightly, his
body relaxing into the seat.

His breathing grew deep
and even, his antennae
quietly bobbing with each
exhalation. Karen couldn't help
but feel a swell of affection
for this vulnerable side of
Plankton she'd never seen before.

The car ride home was
quiet, punctuated only by
Plankton's gentle snores
and the rhythmic swish of the
windshield wipers. Karen
smiled to herself, her grip on
his hand never loosening.

new the tooth of a child wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore iii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vii


(Autistic author)



The movie ended with the
snails crossing the finish line.
Sponge Bob reached for the remote,
fingers hovering over the
button. "Would you like to watch
something else?" he asks, voice
soft. 

Sponge Bob noticed his
friend Plankton's gentle
snores. He had fallen asleep,
his body slack. "Plankton?"
he whispered. 
Sponge Bob leaned closer,
his heart skipping a beat as he
noticed Plankton's gentle
snores. Plankton didn't stir, his
body slumped slightly curled up.
Sponge Bob's gaze
softened as he realized
he had fallen asleep
likely for the night.

Sponge Bob felt a wave of
relief wash over him, for Plankton
found comfort in their shared
experience.
He gently cradles him.

Karen, watching from the doorway,
smiled softly as she saw Sponge
Bob's gentle care. She knew that
Sponge Bob had always had a
special bond with Plankton, but
now, it seemed that bond had grown
deeper, more meaningful.

He had always been
there for Plankton, through
their many adventures and
misunderstandings. Now, in the
face of Plankton's new reality,
he remained steadfast, offering a
steady hand in the storm of change.

"Let's get him to bed," Karen
whispered, stepping into the room.
Her eyes met Sponge Bob's, her gaze
filled with warmth and thanks.
Together, they carefully lifted
Plankton from the couch, his
body limp with sleep. His antennae
twitched slightly at the sudden
movement, but his snores remained
steady, a testament to his deep sleep.
Sponge Bob walked down the hallway,
his steps light, carrying 
Plankton with ease.

Karen had prepared the bed.
They laid him down, his antennae
flailing briefly before settling
against the pillow. Sponge Bob
tucked the blanket around him,
his movements careful not to
disturb his friend.

Plankton's snores grew quieter as
his body settled into the cool
embrace of the sheets. His antennae
twitched one last time before
going still, his mouth slightly parted.

Sponge Bob and Karen stepped back,
exchanging a look of shared
relief. "He's asleep," Karen
murmured, her voice a soft
caress in the quiet room.

Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze
lingering on Plankton's peaceful
face. "Thanks for today,
Karen," he said, his voice
grateful.

Karen's smile was warm. "Anytime,
Sponge Bob," she replied. "You're
such a good friend to him."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's sleeping
form. "Always will be," he said.

The next morning, Plankton woke
up, and his antennae
twitched as he registered the
events of the previous day.
He sat up, the blanket sliding
off his body, and looked around.

Sponge Bob stirred from the
armchair, where he had dozed off
watching over him. "Morning,
Plankton," he said, his voice
slightly rough with sleep.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
he looked around, his gaze
falling on Sponge Bob. 

Sponge Bob yawned, stretching his
spongy body, his voice gentle. "You 
fell asleep."

Plankton's antennae twitched as
his eye focused on Sponge Bob,
his brain slowly piecing together
the events of the previous evening.

Sponge Bob's smile was warm. "You
tired out, buddy?" he asked, his
voice gentle.

Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Tired," he
murmured, his voice still thick with
sleep.

Sponge Bob nodded, understandingly.
"How about we start with a quiet
morning?" he suggested. 

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly before he nods. "Quiet
morning," he murmured, his voice
agreeable.

Sponge Bob nodded, his
expression filled with concern.
"How about some pancakes?" he offered.
"They're nice and easy on the
stomach."

Plankton's antennae perked up at
the mention of food. "No pancakes,"
he murmured, his voice still
sluggish with sleep.

Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "No
pancakes?" he repeated,
surprise evident in his tone.
"But you love pancakes!"

Plankton's antennae quivered as
he thought, his voice a soft
whisper. "Pancakes... no," he said,
his gaze drifting to the
window where the early morning
sun peeked through the curtains.
The light was gentle, not yet
harsh enough to cause him pain. 
"Toast," he decided, his voice
final.

Sponge Bob nodded, his smile
slightly saddened but respectful
of Plankton's new boundaries. "Okay,
toast it is," he said, standing up
from the chair and heading to
the kitchen.

Karen met SpongeBob. "Good
morning! How's everything?"

Sponge Bob's expression was a
mixture of hope and trepidation.
"Plankton's okay," he said. "He's just
really tired."

Karen nodded, her gaze
following her husband as he
slowly made his way to the kitchen.
"It's going to take some time for
us to figure this out," she said.
"But we'll get there."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's
reclined form. "We will," he said,
his voice firm with resolve.

He returned to the kitchen,
his spongy feet padding softly
against the floor. The room was
bathed in the gentle light of dawn,
the quiet hum of the
refrigerator the only sound. He
pulled out a loaf of bread,
his mind racing with thoughts
of Plankton's new needs.

Sponge Bob carefully sliced
two pieces of toast, placing them
in the toaster with a soft click.

"Morning!" Karen says as Plankton
sits down. She gives him milk, as
she knew it soothes him.

"Stayed up late for movie. Still am
tired. Love Karen and SpongeBob."

The toaster's ding pierced the
silence, and Plankton's antennae
shot straight up, his body
stiffening at the sudden noise.

"Easy, Plankton," Sponge Bob called
from the kitchen, his voice
soothing. "It's just the toast."

"Toast," he murmured. "Toast."

Sponge Bob carefully brought the
toast to the table, placing it
before Plankton. The scent of warm
bread filled the air, mingling with
the comforting aroma of Karen's
brewing coffee. Plankton's antennae
twitched as he took in the sight, his
body visibly relaxing at the
familiar smells.

"Yesterday's crazy, autistic or not. And
you're still getting used to it all."
Karen says as Plankton eats the toast.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly, still exhausted.

The milk Karen had given him was
warm, the perfect temperature to
soothe his still-frazzled nerves. He
brought the cup to his lips, his
hands trembling just a bit.

As the creamy liquid slid down his
throat, Plankton felt a gentle
wash of calm spread through him.
His antennae, which had been
twitching in anticipation of the
morning's noises, grew still.
It usually helps calm him, which is
what it did today.

Sponge Bob sat opposite him,
his eyes filled with concern.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice
soft and gentle.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
drooping as he took another sip of
his milk. "Tired," he murmured.

Karen sat next to him, her hand
resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's
okay," she said, her
voice a gentle reminder of his
new reality.

SpongeBob helped Karen clean
up the kitchen.

Plankton sat in the chair, his
body slumped, his antennae
still. His eye was closed, his
tiny chest rising and falling in
the slow, steady rhythm of
sleep. His head tilted back
and a soft snore escaped
his open mouth.

Karen noticed. The past 
few days had taken a
toll on him, but she knew
that with time and patience,
they would find their new
normal.

"Let's get you to the couch,"
she murmured, her voice
soft. She gently took the
cup from Plankton's hand,
his grip loose with sleep.
Sponge Bob helped her lift
his tiny form from the chair.

Together, they carried him
to the living room, his body
relaxed in their grasp.
They placed him on the couch,
his antennae twitching slightly
as he settled into the pillows.

Sponge Bob tucked the blanket
around Plankton, his eyes
never leaving his friend's
sleeping face. "Rest, Plankton,"
he whispered. "We're here."

Karen nodded, her pixel eyes
misting with emotion. "Thank
you, Sponge Bob," she said. "For
being here."

Sponge Bob's smile was genuine.
"Always, Karen," he said, his
spongy hand giving hers a gentle
squeeze. "Always."

new autism in the plankton family sleepicore vii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vii
(Autistic author)

"We're just going to do what you want. How about a trivia game?"

Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the mention of 
a game, his love for competition never truly forgotten. 
"Trivia," he echoed, his voice still monotone but with a 
hint of interest.

"Yes, trivia," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You can 
show us all how much you know."

Plankton looked up at Patrick.

"I'm sorry," Patrick said, voice sincere 
for once. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Plankton sniffled, his antennae twitching slightly. "Patrick 
mean," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with hurt.

"I know, buddy," Sponge Bob said, placing a comforting hand 
on his shoulder. "But he didn't know. Sometimes, Patrick doesn't 
think before he speaks."

Patrick nodded, his eyes downcast. "I guess I'm not the best 
at understanding things," he mumbled.

Sponge Bob leaned closer to Plankton. "Why don't we start our 
game now?" he suggested, his voice gentle. "We can play a 
game about random trivia. Does that sound okay?"

Plankton nodded slowly, antennae still drooping. "Okay," he murmurs.

They around the table, the jellyfish book open to a random page. 
Plankton's gaze remained fixed on it, his mind racing with facts 
and figures. Karen took a deep breath, her tentacles still tense 
from the confrontation with Patrick. "Alright, let's start with 
something easy," she suggested. "What's the scientific name 
for jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye lighting up with excitement. 
"Jellyfish scientific name," he recited, "Cnidaria."

"Cnidaria?" Sponge Bob repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's 
right, Plankton!"

Patrick looked at the book, then at Plankton, his eyes wide. "How do you 
know all this stuff?"

Plankton's antennae wiggled slightly. "Plankton read book," he said, his 
voice monotone but with a hint of pride.

"Patrick, I'll ask you a question," Sponge Bob said, his smile genuine.

Patrick nodded, eager to make amends. "Shoot."

Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Okay, Patrick," he said, "What's 
the square root of 120?"

Patrick's eyes widened, his brain scrambling. He took a deep breath and 
announced, "It's 12?"

"No, Patrick," Plankton said, his voice a monotone but with a hint of 
amusement. "It's 10.190565... but Plankton rounds to 10."

Patrick's face fell as he realized he'd been outsmarted. "Oh," he murmured. 
"Guess I should've studied more at boating school."

"It's okay, Patrick," Karen said.

Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with encouragement. "Let's keep 
playing, Plankton," he said. "You're doing great."

Plankton nodded, his antennae slightly less droopy.

"Your turn, Plankton," Sponge Bob said. "What's something interesting 
about yourself?"

Plankton paused, his antennae twitching as he searched for words. 
"Interesting?" he echoed.

Sponge Bob nodded encouragingly. "Yes, something that makes you 
special or unique. Tell us all about Plankton."

Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought. "Plankton... good at 
science," he said finally, his monotone voice revealing his pride. 
"Especially jellyfish."

"That's fantastic, Plankton!" Karen exclaimed.

Patrick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, buddy," he said, his voice still 
subdued. "You're a real jellyfish genius."

Plankton's antennae twitched with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish 
have 24 eyes," he said, his voice monotone yet filled with a newfound 
confidence. "But no brain."

"What?" Patrick's eyes widened. "How can they see without a brain?"

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he began to elaborate. 
"Jellyfish have simple nervous system," he said, his voice still flat but 
gaining momentum. "Eyes detect light, not images. Help them avoid 
predators and find food."

Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow
Plankton," he said. "That's so cool!"

"Plankton born cycloptic one eye."

Patrick's jaw dropped as he stared at Plankton. "That's... really cool," he 
murmured, his mind racing to keep up.

Sponge Bob nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Plankton," he said, his voice 
filled with excitement. "Tell us more!"

Plankton's antennae perked up at the genuine interest from his 
friends. "Plankton own Chum Bucket," he said, his voice monotone 
but proud. "Serve chum, best food in Bikini Bottom."

Patrick's eyes lit up. "You're like a chef, Plankton! That's so cool!"

But Plankton's gaze remained on the jellyfish book, his thoughts 
drifting. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled 
with a hint of anger. "Has Krabby Patties.."

Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a glance, knowing the mention of Mr. Krabs.
"Plankton," Karen began cautiously, "we don't have to talk about Krabby Patties 
if you don't want to."
But Plankton's antennae shot up, his voice taking on a new, almost manic energy. 
"No, no," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Krabby Patties. 
Plankton's purpose."
Sponge Bob's smile faltered, the mention of Krabby Patties bringing back 
memories of their long-standing rivalry. "Plankton," he said gently, "you don't 
have to steal Krabby Patties anymore. You have jellyfish now."
But Plankton's antennae quivered with a strange intensity. "Krabs," he murmured, 
his monotone voice filled with a newfound urgency. "Gave Plankton brain damage. 
Accident," Plankton murmured, his voice low. "Mr. Krabs... Krabby Patty... 
Plankton's brain... changed."

Sponge Bob's smile faded, his heart sinking as he realized 
the gravity of the situation. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled sadness.
But Plankton didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton 
not same," he murmured. "But jellyfish... jellyfish make Plankton happy."

Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she said, her voice 
soothing. "You can still have a purpose. Maybe not with Krabby Patties, but 
with jellyfish."

Plankton's antennae quivered as he repeated her words back to her. "Purpose 
with jellyfish," he murmured.

"Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her tentacles stroking his back gently. "Your purpose 
can be whatever makes you happy."

"Happy," Plankton echoed, his antennae twitching as he repeated her word.

"Yes, happy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're here to support you, Plankton."



"Support Plankton," he echoed, his antennae drooping slightly. "But 
Krabs... Plankton's enemy."

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, her own filled with a gentle warmth. 
"Mr. Krabs doesn't have to be your enemy anymore," she said, her tone 
soothing. "You can find joy in other things."

"Other things," Plankton echoed, his antennae still.

"Yes," Karen said, her tentacles waving gently. "Like jellyfish. You can focus 
on learning about them and sharing your knowledge with others."

"Share knowledge," Plankton repeated, his antennae quivering 
with curiosity.

"Exactly," Karen said, her tentacles gesturing encouragingly. "You can 
start a jellyfish club, remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Jellyfish 
club," he murmured.

"Yeah, buddy," Sponge Bob said, his voice filled with excitement. "We can all join 
and learn together!"

Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, and a glimmer of hope entered his eye. 
"Club," he murmured, his voice monotone but with a hint of excitement. 

new a life of diversity gamefic vii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vii

(Autistic author)

He starts to rock back 
and forth, his 
single eye squeezed shut 
as he tries to cope with 
the sudden change in his 
environment.
Mr. Krabs' confusion 
deepens, his claws 
scratching his head in 
bemusement. "What's 
gotten into you, Plankton?" 
he says.
But Plankton can't 
stop. His rocking 
intensifies, his 
whispered mantra 
becoming more 
desperate. "Fish, fish, 
fish," he repeats, his 
voice rising slightly 
with each iteration.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his confusion
turning. 
"Plankton, you ok?"
he asks.
But Plankton is lost 
in his own world, his 
stimming a way to 
self-regulate. His antennas 
wave back and forth in 
a soothing rhythm, his 
body rocking slightly as 
he murmurs "fish, fish, 
fish."
Sponge Bob's heart 
aches as he watches 
his friend, his own 
hands clenching into 
fists at his side. He 
understands now that 
Plankton's behavior isn't 
a game, it's a coping 
mechanism, a way to 
navigate through the 
chaos in his head.
"Plankton, it's ok," 
Sponge Bob says 
soothingly, approaching 
his friend. He gently 
picks up one of the 
fallen chess pieces, a 
knight, and holds it 
out to him. "Do you 
want to play again?"
Plankton's antennas 
cease their frantic 
motion, his eye 
focusing on the knight. 
He takes it, his 
fingers tracing the 
intricate carvings, 
his breathing 
steadying. "Fish," he 
says, his voice 
calmer.
Sponge Bob watches 
his friend carefully, 
his heart breaking at 
the sight of his 
distress. He 
understands now that 
Plankton's repetition 
is not just a strange 
behavior, but a 
way to cope with 
his new reality.
Mr. Krabs, still 
confused, watches as 
Plankton's  
tracing the lines of 
the chessboard. "What 
are ye doing?" he 
asks, his voice 
annoyed.
Sponge Bob's eyes 
meet Plankton's, and 
he sees the 
desperation in his 
friend's eye. "Mr. Krabs, 
Plankton's just... trying 
to remember how to 
play," he lies gently.

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't argue. Sponge 
Bob takes this 
moment to sit next 
to Plankton, placing 
his hand on his 
shoulder. "It's ok," he 
whispers. "We'll play 
again when you're 
ready."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his eye
dilating slightly as 
he nods. He clutches 
the knight tightly, 
his thumb stroking 
its smooth surface. 
It's a familiar 
comfort, something 
from before the accident, 
before the world 
became a confusing 
cacophony of sounds 
and sights.

As the moments 
pass, Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on the 
chessboard, the 
pattern of the squares 
providing a 
comforting visual 
stimulation. Sponge Bob 
notices the subtle 
change in his friend's 
demeanor, the tension 
easing from his 
tiny body.

"Fish," Plankton 
murmurs again, but this 
time with less urgency. 
He carefully sets 
the knight back 
down on the board, 
his hand hovering 
above it. Sponge 
Bob's heart swells 
with affection, and 
he knows that 
despite the confusion 
and fear in Plankton's 
eye, his friend is 
trying.

Mr. Krabs, however, is 
far from convinced, his 
eyes narrowing. "If 
this is how you're going to 
be, I'm not playing," he 
declares, crossing his arms 
over his chest.
But Plankton's antennas 
perk up slightly, his 
interest piqued by the 
challenge. He picks up 
the knight again, his 
thumb caressing the piece. 
"Fish," he whispers, 
his gaze flicking to 
Sponge Bob and then 
back to the board. It's a 
plea.
Sponge Bob nods, his 
face a picture of solemn 
reassurance. "It's ok," 
he repeats. "Just..."

"What's wrong 
with you, Plankton?" Mr. 
Krabs exclaims.

Plankton's antennas 
droop, and he looks 
down at his cards again. 
He doesn't know how to 
explain his condition to 
Mr. Krabs, who's always 
so dismissive of him. 

He feels a pang of 
desperation,
racing to find a way 
to bridge 
understanding.
Then, it hits him.
With trembling 
hands, Plankton 
mimics Mr. Krabs' 
crossed arms, his 
voice a poor imitation. 
"What's wrong 
with you, Plankton," he 
repeats firmly.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
bulge with surprise. 
"What's this now?" he 
mutters, giving way to 
amusement. He chuckles 
deeply, his claws 
unfolding from his 
chest.

Sponge Bob 
understands Plankton. 
"Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly, trying to 
intercept the situation. 
"Plankton's..."
But Mr. Krabs waves 
his hand dismissively. 
"I know, I know," he says, 
his voice filled with 
mockery. "Just playing 
his little games."

Plankton doesn't want to 
be laughed at, especially 
not by Mr. Krabs. With 
determined effort, he 
mimics Mr. Krabs. 
"I know I know," he says 
again, his tone 
mimicking Mr. Krabs'. 
"Just playing his little
games!"
Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fades, his gaze 
sharp. "What
now, Plankton?" he 
demands, his voice 
hard.

Plankton's antennas quiver 
with determination as he 
picks up Mr. Krabs' 
mannerisms. "I know, I know," 
he repeats, his eye fixed on 
Mr. Krabs. "Just playing his 
little games!"

Mr. Krabs' expression 
sours to 
irritation. "What's your 
game, Plankton?" he snaps.

"Game," he 
repeats, his voice a 
mirror of Mr. Krabs'. "Game, 
game Mr. Krabs."

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow, his 
confusion shifting 
to annoyance. "You're 
not making sense," 
he says, his voice 
sharp.

But Plankton 
doesn't stop. "Game, 
game Mr. Krabs," he 
persists, his antennas 
waving frantically.

Sponge Bob's heart 
squeezes. He 
knows Plankton's not 
trying to annoy; he's 
desperately trying to 
convey something, but 
his brain's wiring isn't 
cooperating. Plankton's repetition 
has turned into a 
mantra, a plea for 
understanding that only 
Mr. Krabs seems to 
ignore.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
snaps. "Enough!" he 
shouts, slamming his 
claws on the table. 
"What do you want 
from me, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
flatten, his eye
filling with tears.

Sponge Bob jumps 
up, his own voice 
shaky. "Mr. Krabs, please, 
don't yell," he begs. 
"It's just a game."

Mr. Krabs' face 
twists in anger. "This isn't a 
game, this is your usual 
scheme to drive me 
crazy!"

"No, Mr. 
Krabs," he says.

new a journey to autism gamefic vii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii

(Autistic Author)



The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

During a particularly suspenseful scene, 
Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's 
arm instinctively.

But the sudden touch sends Plankton 
spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he 
starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening 
in concern.

Plankton's body jolts, his antennae 
flailing wildly as his eye roll back. 

"Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear 
as he clutches his father's arm tighter. 
Plankton's tremors only worsen, his 
body convulsing in a way that's both 
frightening and heartbreaking.

Karen's realizes what's happening. 
"Chip, let go!" she cries.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice 
trembling with fear.

Plankton's shaking becomes more 
intense, his antennae flailing as if trying 
to escape the confines of his own body. 
His mouth opens in a silent scream.

Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but 
something else entirely—a meltdown, a 
result of the overwhelming emotions 
he's been trying to hold in. She rushes 
to his side with worry.

"Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice 
urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes 
more intense, his antennae thrashing 
about like seaweed in a storm.

Karen quickly moves closer, her own 
hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight 
grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, 
let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice 
firm yet filled with empathy.

"What's wrong with him?" he stammers, 
voice trembling.

Karen's full of sadness as she 
takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling 
him away from Plankton's convulsing 
form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her 
voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's 
just having a hard time right now."

Her movements are swift and sure as 
she guides Chip away from the couch, 
her gaze never leaving Plankton. His 
body is still racked with tremors, his 
antennae a wild mess of emotions. She 
knows that touch can be overwhelming 
for Plankton in moments like these, so 
she keeps her distance, giving him the 
space he needs.

"Why is he doing that?" Chip 
whispers, his voice shaky with fear. 
Karen's heart aches as she holds him 
close, trying to shield him from the 
harshness of the world.

"It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she 
explains gently, her voice a soothing 
balm. "Sometimes, when some 
neurodivergent people get really upset 
or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like 
this."

Karen's on Plankton, who's still 
trembling on the couch, his antennae a 
blur of distress. She knows he needs 
space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. 
With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe 
distance, speaking softly so as not to 
add to the sensory overload.

"Plankton," she says, her voice steady 
despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's 
ok. Just breathe."

Plankton's body continues to spasm, his 
antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. 
Karen's filled with a fierce determination 
as she carefully approaches him, her 
movements slow and calculated to avoid 
triggering more distress.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice a 
gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm 
here."

Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his 
body calming as he registers her 
presence. "It's ok," she repeats. 
With trembling hands, she reaches out 
to stroke his back, the barest touch. 
Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his 
breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps.

"Just breathe," she whispers again, her 
hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's 
ok, you're ok."

Plankton's antennae slow their erratic 
dance, his body following suit. The 
tremors subside, leaving him drained 
and panting.

"Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder.

Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok 
now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's 
way of letting out all the big feelings."

Chip watches, his grip on Karen 
tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give 
him a moment."

The room is silent except for Plankton's 
uneven breathing. The colors from the 
TV flicker across their faces, painting 
them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen 
can feel Chip's little heart beating 
against hers, and she knows he's 
scared.

"It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a 
beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just 
needs some
time."

Plankton's antennae droop, his body 
finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent 
apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen 
nods, her hand still on his back, offering 
assurance without words.

"Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can 
you go to your room for a bit?"

He nods, eyes still glued to his 
father, but he doesn't protest. With a 
heavy heart, Karen watches her son 
disappear down the corridor, the door 
clicking shut behind him.

Turning her full attention to Plankton, 
she sits down beside him, her hand 
resting lightly on his back. His breathing 
is still ragged, his antennae barely 
moving.

"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice 
hoarse.

Karen nods with 
understanding. "We'll talk to him," she 
says gently. "But first, let's make sure 
you're ok."

Plankton's body still 
trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand 
on his back, her touch a silent promise 
that she's there for him.

Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, 
trying to soothe him. "You don't have to 
apologize," she says firmly. "You are 
who you are, and we love you for it."

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up at her, his single eye brimming 
with unshed tears. "But I don't know how 
to be a good dad like this," he chokes 
out.

Karen's heart breaks at his words, but 
she keeps her voice steady. "You're 
already a great dad, Plankton," she 
says. "You just need to find a way to 
show Chip that."

He looks at her, hope and doubt warring 
in his expression. "How?" he asks, his 
voice barely a whisper.

Karen takes a deep breath, gathering 
her thoughts. "By teaching him," she 
says gently. "By letting him in, just like 
you're letting us in now."

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled 
with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want 
him to see me like this."

Karen squeezes his hand. "He already 
does," she says gently. "And he loves 
you anyway."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore vii

GREAT CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched their faces,
picking up on the unspoken tension.
"I see you two had a talk," she said gently,
her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are 
you feeling?"

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"Tired," he admitted. "But better."

Karen stepped closer to the bed,
her hand reaching out to cover
his own. "I'm here," she said softly.
"Do you remember what happened
in Chip's room before coming in here?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously. "Bits and pieces,"
he admitted, his eye avoiding hers.
"I know I had a...moment. And I...
I was mad."

Karen's hand squeezed his gently.
"It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice
soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed.
It's just your brain's way of coping."

Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae
still. "But the things I said..."
his voice trailing off.

Karen's expression remained calm,
understanding. "They were the seizure's words,
not yours," she assured him. "We're just
glad you're okay."

Chip's gaze flitted between
his parents, his heart aching for his dad.
He knew he needed to be strong, to support
his father through this. "Can we talk more
about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice
filled with hope.

Plankton's antennae nodded wearily.
"We can," he said, his voice a mix
of relief and exhaustion. "But for now,
I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.."

Chip felt a twinge of sadness
at the thought of his dad's struggle,
but he also felt a spark of hope.
Maybe tomorrow would bring a new
understanding, a way to bridge
the gap between them.

The next morning, the sun streamed
through the blinds of their small, cluttered
bedroom, casting patterns on the floor.
Chip stirred, his mind filled with the
memories of the previous night's conversation.
He checked on Plankton, who was
still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly.
He knew today would be a new day,
a chance to start anew with his father.

Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen,
his thoughts racing with the promise
of understanding.

He found Karen at the counter,
sipping her morning coffee, her eyes
red-rimmed from the night's worry.

"Mom," he began, his voice
still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?"

Karen turned, her eyes
filled with the same
exhaustion he saw in Plankton's.
"Of course, honey," she said,
placing her mug down gently.

Chip took a deep breath,
his words spilling out like
water from a broken dam.
"I want to understand Dad's
condition," he said, his voice
determined. "I don't want
to make it worse for him."

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the sincerity in his gaze.
"That's a big step, Chip,"
she said, her voice filled
with pride. "But it's not
going to be easy. It'll take
patience and practice."

Chip nodded, his expression
resolute. "I'm ready," he said.
"I just don't want Dad to be
alone in this."

Karen's face softened, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "You're
such a good son," she said, her
voice warm with affection. "But 
remember, he might not always
know how to ask for help. Sometimes,
you'll have to read between the lines."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and concerns.
"But what if I mess up?"
he asked, his voice trembling.

Karen's hand gave his shoulder
a gentle squeeze. "You might,"
she said, her voice filled with
experience. "But that's okay. Just
keep trying, and we'll figure
it out together."

Her words echoed in Chip's head
as he sat down at the kitchen
table, his eyes never leaving
his mother's. "But how do I know
what to do?"

Karen took a deep breath, her
eyes filled with a quiet strength.
"You'll learn," she said, her voice
calm and reassuring. "It's about
patience and observation. And
most importantly, communication."

Chip nodded, feeling the
weight of her words. "Okay," he said.
"I'll do my best."

Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder gently. "You already are,"
she said, her smile warm.

Chip felt a surge of determination.
He was going to be there for his dad,
no matter what it took. "What can I do
now?" he asked, eager to start.

Karen's eyes searched his, a hint
of sadness in them. "Now, we wait,"
she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes,
be there, but don't overwhelm him."

Chip nodded, his mind racing with
questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions:
fear, love, and a newfound
determination to be the best
son he could be.

As he waited for Plankton to
wake up, he tried to remember
the cues his dad had mentioned:
twitching antennae, a sudden
quietness, a look of overwhelm.
He promised himself to be more
aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

new great chip tiredcore vii

CHIP AND FAIL vii
(Autistic author)

Plankton's body tensed, his
eye squeezing shut as he tried to
block out the onslaught of
sensations. "Chip," he murmured,
his voice strained, "I can't."
"What do you mean?"
He didn't know his touch, his
words, his very presence was a
storm in Plankton's mind. He
just wanted to share his week,
his joy, with his dad.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his antennae twitching.
"I have... I have something
that makes it hard for me to...
to handle..."

But Chip's excitement was unable to
comprehend the distress he was
causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he
asked, his voice filled with
eagerness. "You can tell me anything!"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye flickering with pain.
He knew he had to find the
words, to explain the storm
that raged in his mind, his 
voice trembling. "I
can't... I just..."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his hands reaching out
again. 
But Plankton was already
slipping away, his mind a tornado of
sensations. He couldn't find the
words, the storm too loud.

Chip, oblivious to the turmoil,
pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me
anything," he said, his voice
bubbling over with eagerness. His
hands reached out again, his touch
like a lightning bolt in Plankton's
overstimulated world.

Plankton's antennae quivered
with the effort of maintaining
his composure. He didn't know
how to explain the maelstrom
that was his mind, the way each
touch and sound felt like a
thunderclap. "Chip," he began again,
his voice strained, "I'm..."

But Chip was a hurricane,
his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it
because of the college?" he
asked, his screen sparkling. "Or
Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that
his words, his touch, were the
fuel for the storm.

Plankton's eye searched
his son's, desperate for a
moment of calm. "Chip, no,
it's not about..." His voice
was a whisper, lost in the wind
of his son's excitement.

But Chip didn't hear the
desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope
of thoughts and memories.
He didn't see the pain he was
causing, only his own need
for connection. "But Dad,
I just wanted to..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body tensing like a bowstring.
"Chip," he said, his voice
a whipcrack of agony. "P-please."

But Chip was in his own
world, racing with
the excitement of his week. "Come
on, Dad," he said, his voice
filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's
so cool, you've gotta see it!"
He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling
him to hard.

Plankton's body jerked, his
eye wide with pain. The sudden
contact was like a sledgehammer
to his overstimulated mind, his
thoughts scattering like leaves
in a storm. "Chip," he managed,
his voice strained, "please."

But Chip's excitement was a
freight train, barreling forward
without a care for the tracks.
He didn't see the agony etched
in Plankton's features, didn't feel
the tension in his father's
body. "Come on, Dad," he said,
his grip tightening. "It's going
to be amazing, I..."

Plankton's body spasmed at the
contact, his antennae vibrating
wildly. The room grew too bright,
the sounds too loud, the air too
thin. He couldn't move, couldn't
think. His mind was a cacophony
of sensations, a symphony of
overload. "Chip," he choked out,
his voice a plea. "I... I can't."

Chip's face fell, not realizing how
angry his dad's getting. "What do you..."

But Plankton was already
spiraling, his mind a tornado of
sensory assault. He didn't know
how to make Chip understand,
his voice a thunderclap of despair.
"I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae
waving erratically.

Chip's smile faltered, his eyes
wide with shock. He had never
seen his dad like this before,
his touch a match to a fuse. He
took a step back, his hands up in
surrender. "You mean, you won't!"
he asked, his voice shaking.

Plankton took a deep, shuddering
breath, his antennae drooping.
"Chip," he said, his voice tight with
frustration. "I can't. Not right
now. I need..."

But Chip's crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built to
keep his world in order. "But Dad,
it's just a story!" he exclaimed,
his voice booming in the quiet
living room. "It's not a big deal,
you're just being..."

The room grew smaller, the walls
closing in on Plankton as Chip's
words echoed in his mind. Just a
story? To Chip, it was a simple
tale of adventure, but to Plankton,
it was a minefield of sensory input
his brain couldn't process. "Chip,
please," he murmured, his antennae
twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're
not trying hard enough!" Chip said,
his voice filled with the kind of
innocent exasperation that only
a child can muster. "But if you're
trying to break our family, congratulations!
You..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body rigid with tension. The
accusation hit him like a tidal
wave, threatening to drown him
under the weight of his own
failure. "Chip," he said, his voice
a desperate plea. "It's not..."

But Chip's screen filled
with accusation, his voice
loud in the suddenly too-small
room. "Why can't you just be
normal?" he demanded, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his eye squeezed shut against
the assault. "I'm sorry," he
whispered, his voice breaking.
"I'm not... I'm not like other
dads."

"Well DUH! You just can't handle it,
can you?" Chip said, his voice
filled with frustration. He didn't
see the pain in Plankton's eye,
the way his antennae drooped with
each accusation. "But it's just a
story, Dad. It's not that..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his body trembling with the effort
to stay calm. "Chip, you don't
understand," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "My mind
is like a... a... "

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his expression a mix
of confusion and anger. "What?
What's wrong with you? Let me
guess, you're just being dramatic
again," he said, his voice
harsher than he intended. Plankton
flinched at the accusation, his
antennas stiffening.

Karen watched from the
sidelines, aching. She knew
this moment was inevitable, but
seeing the pain was like a knife to her.
She took a deep breath,
steeling herself for the conversation
that needed to happen.

"Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice
soft and gentle, "Dad's not
being dramatic." She took a step
forward, placing a hand on her
son's shoulder, feeling the tension
beneath his skin. "Your dad has..."

"Mom, my 'dad' has no place 
in OUR family! Your life is a lie!"
Chip's words, fueled by confusion
and hurt, echoed through to
Plankton, his voice shaking.

Karen's hands shook as she reached
for Chip. "No, honey," she said,
her voice trembling, "it's not
that simple." But Chip was already
storming out of the room, his
footsteps like thunder in the quiet
hallway.

Plankton slumped back against
his chair, his antennae drooping.
He had hoped Chip would never
have to know, never have to feel
the way he did. The way his mind
was like a cluttered room, with no
way to organize the chaos. He
closed his eye, the weight of
his secret heavy on his shoulders.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II vii

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

the only sound the steady
rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's
body slowly relaxes, his
eye unclenching, his antennas
stilling. Karen's hand remains
poised, ready to offer comfort
should he need it.

As his breathing evens,
Plankton's eye flutter open.
He looks at Karen, her face a
picture of love and concern.
He feels a pang of guilt for
his earlier outburst, but also a
wave of gratitude for her
understanding. He knows she
doesn't push or harm, she just gets it.

Karen sees the shift in
his gaze, the anger
giving way to something softer.
"Do you want to
talk about it?" she 
asks, her voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton shakes his
head slightly, his antennas
drooping. "No," he murmurs,
his voice hoarse. "Just...
needing a moment."

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering, a silent
offer of comfort. "Take all
the moments you need,"
she says, her voice gentle.

Plankton's gaze lingers
on her hand for a
moment before he nods.
He understands her unspoken
offer, her respect for his boundaries.

Karen knows that touch can
sometimes be too much for him,
a sensation that turns comforting
into overwhelming. So, she waits,
letting the air between them
remain unbroken by physical
contact, allowing him the space
he desperately needs.

The room is a canvas of shadows
and quiet, the only sound the
soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton
slowly uncoils, his body no longer
a taut wire ready to snap.

"Do you want me to let
you alone?" Karen asks, her voice
soft as a whisper in the night.
Plankton shakes his head, his eye
meeting hers. The anger is gone,
replaced by a weary sadness.

She nods, her hand still hovering,
a silent question mark. "Okay,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "But if you need anything,
just tell me."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his shoulders rising and falling
like waves on the shore. "Thank
you," he murmurs, his eye
brightening slightly.

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering but not
touching. "I'm here," she says.
"Always." Her voice is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a gentle reminder that
she's his anchor in the
storm of sensory overload.

Plankton's antennas twitch
slightly, a flicker of
understanding passing between
them. He's aware of her presence,
but the weight of his guilt
and frustration is to much.

"I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice a frayed thread of
his usual bravado.

Karen's hand remains hovering,
a silent question, a gentle offer.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asks,
her voice a soft breeze in the stillness.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs,
his voice a whisper of relief.

Karen's hand lowers slowly,
coming to rest on the bed between
them. She's careful not to
cross the invisible barrier of his personal
space, her touch a gentle
promise of support.

"You don't have to be sorry,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're doing the best
you can, Plankton."

He nods, his antennas
twitching slightly. "But I
snapped," he says, his voice
filled with regret.

Karen's hand remains still,
just outside his personal space.
"It's okay," she whispers, her
tone filled with empathy. "You're
overwhelmed. It happens."

Plankton nods, his antennas
barely moving. "But I shouldn't
have yelled," he says, his voice
barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry."

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says. She reaches out
slowly, her hand hovering an inch
from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks,
her eyes searching his for consent.

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
body still tense, but he nods.
It's a small gesture, but it's
enough. Karen's hand settles on
his shoulder, her touch feather-light.

He flinches at first, his body
remembering the pain of the
unexpected touch, but her gentle
pressure is a soothing balm.
He leans into it slightly, his
body language speaking louder
than his words ever could.

Her hand on his shoulder is
the bridge between them, a
testament to their love and
understanding. Plankton's breathing
gradually deepens, his body
softening into the mattress. Karen's
touch is a lullaby, a promise that
everything will be okay.

The room is a cocoon of quiet,
their breaths the only sound.
Plankton's eye droops, his
body finally succumbing to
exhaustion. The weight of his
head shifts slightly, his trust
in Karen unspoken but palpable.

Her hand remains on his
shoulder, a gentle reminder of
her presence. She watches
his chest rise and fall, his
body slowly relaxing under
the soft blanket of sleep. His
features smooth out, the lines
of anger and frustration
disappearing into the pillow.

As his breaths become
even, Karen can't help but feel
a mix of sadness and love.
Her heart goes out to him,
this man she's spent her life
with, who fights battles she
can never fully understand.

The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the air thick with the
scent of their unspoken
words. Plankton's hand twitches
slightly, and she wonders if he's
dreaming of a world where the
noise isn't so loud, where the
colors aren't so bright, where
his mind can rest without
fear of being bombarded.

Karen watches as her
husband's chest rises and falls,
his breaths deepening into
the steady rhythm of sleep.
The lines of his face relax,
his antennas droop slightly.

Her gaze shifts to the
shattered trophy on the floor,
the sand scattered like a
tiny desert. The room is a
testament to the storm that
was his sensory overload.

Karen's hand tightens slightly
on Plankton's shoulder, her
heart aching for both her
husband and son. She knows the
road ahead won't be easy, that
they'll need to navigate this
new terrain with care. But as
she watches Plankton's chest
rise and fall, she feels a
spark of hope.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vii

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. 

new karen and the autistic journey corpus callosum anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) braincore autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore neurodisability viii

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new iii emoseerht ijome tra tod tra txet tra iicsa

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Plankton's eye 
closed slowly, his 
breathing evening out 
under her calming 
touch. His body 
relaxed into the 
cushions of the couch, 
his mind still racing 
but his body succumbing 
to the siren call of 
sleep. The smoothie 
and Karen's comforting 
presence had 
worked their magic.

Karen sat beside 
him, 
wrapped protectively 
around his small 
form. She watched 
his chest rise and 
fall with each 
breath, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of the day's events. 
The Chum Bucket 
was quiet now, the 
silence a stark 
contrast to the 
shouts and sobs that 
had filled it moments 
before. Karen's
heart breaks for Plankton
yet she knows Hanna's
never met him, never heard
of the accident nor diagnosis.

With a sigh, she 
picked up the phone 
that lay on the 
end table and 
dialed Hanna's number. 
The line rang once, 
twice, three times 
before Hanna's 
voice filled the 
line. "Hello?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
steeling herself for 
the conversation 
she had to have. "Hanna, 
it's me," she 
said, her voice 
calm despite the 
whirlwind inside her.
"I need to talk to 
you about what 
happened."

Hanna's tone 
shifted immediately, 
concern lacing her 
words. "Is Plankton 
okay?"

Karen's grip 
on the phone 
tightened. "No," she 
admitted, her voice 
a whisper. "He's 
asleep now, but he's 
not okay."

Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
shock and 
disbelief. "What do 
you mean?"

Karen took 
another deep 
breath, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful 
face. "There was 
an accident," she 
began, her voice 
steady. "He hit his 
head and..." She 
swallowed the lump 
in her throat. "Acquired 
Autism Spectrum Disorder."

The line was 
silent for a 
moment before 
Hanna's voice 
came back, filled 
with horror. "Oh 
Neptune, I had 
no idea!"

Karen's tentacles 
trembled slightly 
as she recounted 
the doctor's words, 
the diagnosis that 
had turned their 
world upside down. "It's 
permanent," she 
whispered. "They said 
his corpus callosum 
and cerebellum were 
damaged. He's...he's 
not the same, Hanna."

On the phone, 
Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
sympathy and 
confusion. "But 
why didn't you tell 
me sooner?"

Karen's sigh 
was heavy with 
regret. "We've 
been dealing with 
this alone," she 
explained, her tentacle 
tracing patterns 
on the couch cushion. 
"It's so new, so 
overwhelming."

Hanna's voice 
was gentle now, 
understanding in a 
way that made Karen 
feel less alone. 
"I'm so sorry, Karen," 
she said, her 
concern genuine. "I 
had no idea."

Karen's 
eyes remained 
locked on Plankton's 
face, his chest rising 
and falling with 
each breath. "It's 
been a rollercoaster," 
she admitted, her 
voice tight. "But 
we're trying to 
make the best of it."

Karen hangs up and
turns her focus back to
Plankton, his small 
body curled tightly 
under the blanket.
She notices 
the way his 
antenna twitches 
as if he's dreaming.

Her hands 
gently adjust the 
blanket, her touch 
feather-light against 
his skin. Plankton's 
face is a mask of 
peace in sleep, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of the 
waking world. His 
snores are faint, a 
soothing rhythm 
that fills the 
otherwise silent room.

Just as Karen 
begins to relax, 
the door to the Chum 
Bucket bursts open, 
letting in a rush 
of sunlight and 
SpongeBob's 
unmistakable 
laughter. "Plankton?" 
he calls out, his 
voice high and 
cheerful.

Sponge Bob's 
entrance is a 
whirlwind of 
energy, a stark 
contrast to the 
heavy silence that 
hangs over the 
laboratory. He 
doesn't notice the 
tension in the 
air as he bounds 
towards the couch, 
his eyes widening 
in surprise when he 
sees Plankton's 
unusual position.

"Whoa, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, 
his voice a 
chirp of curiosity. 
"Looks like you're 
taking a siesta!" 
He laughs, not 
comprehending the 
depth of emotion 
that has just 
played out in 
the room.

Karen looks 
up from her 
watchful vigil, 
her eyes tired but 
determined. "Sponge 
Bob," she says, 
keeping her voice 
steady, "Plankton's 
not feeling well."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his 
cheerfulness 
dimming. "Oh no," 
he says, his 
concern genuine. 
He approaches 
the couch with 
caution, his eyes 
fixed on Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"What happened?" 
he asks, his 
voice hushed. 
"Is he okay?"

Karen's eyes 
meet Sponge Bob's, 
full of a sorrow 
he can't quite 
comprehend. "It's 
been a...difficult 
day," she says, her 
tentacles tightening 
slightly around 
Plankton. "He had 
an accident."

Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts 
from confusion to 
alarm. "Is he 
going to be okay?" 
he asks, his voice 
filled with 
concern. Karen 
sighs, her tentacle 
stroking Plankton's 
forehead in a 
soothing motion. 
"He's just...different 
now," she says, her 
voice tight.

Sponge Bob 
frowns, his 
bubbles popping 
with worry. "What 
kind of different?"

Karen's 
expression is 
guarded, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "He's been 
diagnosed with... 
autism," she 
whispers, the word 
sounding foreign 
even to her.

"Hey, I was born with
idiopathic Autism!" 
Sponge Bob says.

"Well Plankton's got
an acquired form, it's
a rarity," Karen 
explains to Sponge
Bob, her voice 
barely a murmur so 
as not to disturb 
the sleeping Plankton.
Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his 
understanding of 
the situation 
deepening with 
each word.

"So his accident gave
him autism; when?"

"Yesterday, when he hit 
his head on an invention."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with realization. 
"Oh," he says, 
his voice filled with 
sympathy.

He sits down 
on the floor 
beside the couch.

"It's okay, Karen," 
Sponge Bob says 
softly, his eyes 
full of 
understanding. "We'll 
figure this out 
together."

Plankton stirs 
beneath the 
blanket, his 
small form 
shifting slightly.

Karen's gaze 
snaps to him.

"Plankton?" she 
whispers, her 
tentacles poised 
to comfort him if 
his distress 
resurfaces. But his 
eye remains closed, 
his breathing even.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is 
thoughtful as he 
looks at the 
sleeping Plankton. 
"You know, Karen, 
being different isn't 
so bad," he says 
gently. "I mean, 
look at me."

Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly 
as she looks at 
Sponge Bob, his 
optimism a balm 
to her weary 
spirit. Karen smiles.
"Tell that to Hanna,"
Karen mutters to
herself.

"Who's Hanna?"

"A friend," Karen
explained, her 
voice still tight. 
"She came over 
today, didn't know 
about Plankton's 
diagnosis. She said 
things she shouldn't 
have."

Sponge Bob's 
frown deepens. 
"What kind of 
things?"

"She said 
he's a burden, 
that maybe I should 
put him in an 
institution," she 
whispers, her voice 
shaking with anger.

Sponge Bob's 
face falls in shock. 
"That's not 
right, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You 
don't have to 
listen to her. What's an
institution?"

"It's a place where 
clinically crazy people
are sent to rehabilitation
be 'taken care of.' But 
it's not like that 
really for neurodivergent
people. It's more like 
a...a prison where they 
deprive them, and 
often...never make it.
But mostly it's for people
who are violent, which isn't
the case for..."

Her voice trails off as
Plankton stirs again, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly.

Sponge Bob looks at 
Plankton, his eyes 
filled with 
compassion. "He's not 
going anywhere, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You guys 
are like family to 
me. I'll help you 
take care of him."

Plankton's single 
eye opens slightly, 
his gaze unfocused.

"Shh, it's okay," 
she whispers, her 
voice a soothing 
caress.

Plankton blinks 
slowly, his eye 
coming into focus 
as he sees Sponge 
Bob.

A smile 
spreads across his 
face, a rare 
expression of pure 
joy that lights up 
his features. His 
body uncoils from 
its tense curl, 
his antennae 
perking up with 
excitement.

"Sponge Bob," 
Plankton whispers, 
his voice filled with 
a warmth that 
surprises Karen. 
He sits up slowly, 
his movements 
calculated to 
avoid any jolts 
to his sensitive 
system.

Sponge Bob's face 
splits into a 
beaming smile, 
his eyes 
shining with 
joy. "Hey, Plankton!" 
He says.

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression a 
mixture of 
gratitude and 
comfort. "You're 
here," he says 
simply, his voice 
a rough whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his smile never 
wavering. "Of course 
I am," he says, 
his voice gentle. 
He reaches out 
a hand tentatively, 
his movements 
slow and deliberate.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, then he 
reaches out, 
his grip firm but 
not too tight. 
The two of them 
sit there, 
the silence 
comforting rather 
than oppressive.



**NOTEs As an autistic
writer (and I used AI to
help me with the words)
I do not encourage the
ableism people have
shown in their ignorance.
Depending on when and
where you live, some
people have thought 
such therapies might be
good, without actually
accepting nor helping.
Even Hans Asperger
has supported eugenics
during the war, sending
people to internment
camps leading to demise.
I came across the site 
autismmemorial.wordpress.com
if you'd like to educate yourself
about how people have
endured such.*

new neurobehavioral plankton comfortfic vi

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's sobs grew softer in Karen's embrace, his 
tiny body trembling with the weight of his emotions. 
"I-it's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae 
gently. "You can like jellyfish all you want, sweetheart."

Sponge Bob watched from a distance, his heart heavy. 
He had never seen Plankton like this, vulnerable and hurt. 
He knew the two of them had their differences, but this 
was different.

Plankton's sobs grew quieter, but the pain didn't leave 
his eye. Karen held him tight, filled with a fiery 
determination. "Plankton," she whispered soothingly. 
"You don't have to change who you are because of this."

He pulled away slightly, his antennae drooping as he looked 
at her. "But what if jellyfish are all Plankton good for?" he 
murmured, his voice still monotone but filled with a depth 
of emotion that tugged at Karen's heartstrings.

"Plankton, you're more than just jellyfish," Karen said, voice 
firm yet gentle. "You're a smart, resourceful, and determined 
little creature. You've always been so much more than that."

The room was still, the only sound was Plankton's sniffs. 
His antennae drooped, and he looked up at her, his single 
eye red and puffy from crying. "But Karen," he whispered, his 
voice monotone yet filled with emotion, "it's all Plankton know 
now."

Karen's eyes shone with empathy. "That's not true, darling," she 
said, her voice soothing. "You're capable of so much more. We 
just have to figure out how to navigate this new world together."

Sponge Bob hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to do. "Is there 
anything I can do to help?" he offered.

Karen nodded, her tentacles tightening around Plankton. "Could 
you be with him while I admonish Patrick?"

"Of course," Sponge Bob said, moving closer to Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded.

"I'll be right outside," Karen said, her voice gentle.

Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze focused on Plankton's small 
trembling form. "I've got him," he said, his eyes filled with 
understanding and a newfound respect for the tiny creature 
before him.

As Karen left to talk to Patrick 
Sponge Bob sat down beside 
Plankton, his own heart aching 
for his friend's pain. He knew 
that Plankton was going through 
a difficult time, and he wanted to 
be there for him.

Meanwhile, outside the Chum Bucket, Karen found Patrick 
still standing there, his expression a mix of confusion and 
amusement. "Patrick," she began, her voice sharp, "You need 
to understand something."

Patrick looked at her with his usual vacant stare. "What's up, Karen?"

"You have to understand, Patrick," she began, her voice tight 
with tension. "Plankton's... he's different now."

Patrick's smile faded as he met Karen's stern gaze. "Different?"

Karen sighed, trying to find the words. "Plankton's had an... accident," 
she said. "It's changed him."

Patrick's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean, changed?"

Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain 
the complex situation in a way that would make sense to 
someone like Patrick. "Plankton's had a... a bump on the noggin," 
she said, her tentacles gesturing to her own head. "It's affected 
the way he thinks, the way he sees the world."

Patrick's eyes widened in surprise. "Whoa, that's heavy, Karen," he 
said, his tone more serious than it had been in a long time. "Is he ok?"

"Well, he's alive," Karen said, her voice tight with frustration. "But 
he's not the same, Patrick. He's... different."

Patrick's smile faded as he took in her words, his eyes finally 
showing a glimmer of understanding. "What happened?" he 
asked, his tone serious for once.

"It's complicated, Patrick," Karen said. "But the important thing is
he's a new version of himself. So you can choose to be nice to him 
or just leave."

Patrick's face fell, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. "But 
I didn't know, Karen," he protested, his voice small. "How was I 
supposed to know?"

"It's not about knowing, Patrick," Karen said, her voice firm. "It's about 
being a good friend. And if you can't do that, then maybe it's time for 
you to rethink what friendship really means."

Patrick's expression grew contemplative. "But Karen," he 
began, his voice tentative, "what if Plankton's... you know, not 
right in the head anymore?"

"Patrick, that's not funny," she snapped. "This isn't a game. 
This is real life. And Plankton's life has changed in ways 
you can't even begin to understand."

Patrick looked down at his feet, his usual jovial expression 
replaced by one of contemplation. "I didn't mean to be a jerk," 
he mumbled.

"I know you didn't mean to," Karen said, her tone 
softening slightly. "But you need to be more considerate."

Patrick nodded, his cheeks flushing. "I'll be nicer," he 
promised, his eyes darting to the Chum Bucket door.

"Good," Karen said firmly, then turned back to the Chum Bucket. 
She opened the door to find Plankton still on the floor, clutching 
the jellyfish book. His antennae perked up as she entered.

Sponge Bob looked up, his expression a mix of sadness and 
determination. "I think he's okay."

Plankton sniffled, his antennae drooping. "Jellyfish," he 
murmured, his voice a monotone whisper.

Karen's expression softened as she saw the pain in his eye. "It's 
okay, Plankton," she said, her tentacles reaching out to comfort 
him. "You don't have to be anything other than who you are."

Sponge Bob nodded in agreement. "You're still the same Plankton 
we know and love." 

new a life of diversity jellycore vi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face etched with lines
of fatigue. "It's not that I don't
want your affection," he said,
his voice hoarse. "I just need it
in a way that doesn't make me feel...
like I'm in a minefield."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his mind racing to understand.
"How do you mean?" he asked,
his curiosity genuine.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he searched
for the right words. "It's like...
sometimes, a simple touch can feel
like an electric shock," he began,
his voice strained. "Or like I'm being
smothered by a heavy blanket of sound."

Chip's eyes widened, trying to
comprehend. "But you've always
hugged mom," he said, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"It's different with your mother,"
he explained, his voice a little
less strained. "She knows me,
she knows my limits. And she's...
patient." He paused, his eye
flickering with something
resembling sadness. "But others,
it's..."

Chip leaned in, his curiosity
piqued. "What about others?"
he asked gently.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his expression tightening.
"With others, it's... unpredictable,"
he said, his voice a mix of
frustration and resignation.
"Some days I can handle a pat
on the back, and others, it's like
being stabbed."

Chip's eyes widened, his hand
instinctively moving to his chest.
"It's that intense?" he whispered.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "Some days are
worse than others," he said, his voice
soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like
I'm being bombarded from all sides.
It's...overwhelming."

Chip's brow furrowed as he
tried to imagine the intensity
his dad described. "What can I do
to make sure I don't hurt you?"
he asked, his voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly, his eye searching Chip's
face. "Just be mindful," he said,
his voice softer than before. "Watch
for my cues. If I look overwhelmed,
if I flinch, just...give me space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's. "What are
the cues?" he asked, eager to learn.
"How do I know when you're in that
'minefield'?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching for the right words.
"Well, my antennae might twitch a lot,
I might get really quiet, or I might
get louder. It's different
every time."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
"So, if you're in that 'minefield',
I should just...?"

"You can be there,"
Plankton finished for him,
his antennae still. "But not too close.
Make sure to get your mother."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with the new information.
He'd always known his dad
was special, but this was
a new kind of understanding.

"What about sounds?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "What noises
set you off?"

Plankton sighed, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's not just
about the loudness," he began,
his eye searching the ceiling
as if for an answer. "It's more about
the pitch, the suddenness. Like when
you scratch or drop something.."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "Oh," he murmured.
"So, it's like a surprise attack?"

Plankton's antennae nodded.
"Exactly," he said, his voice
sounding a bit less strained.
"But it's not just about the
sounds themselves. It's about
how my brain interprets them."

Chip leaned in, his eyes
filled with curiosity.
"But how did you get it, Dad?"
he asked, his voice soft.
"Was it from something you caught
or something that happened?"

Plankton's antennae waved
in frustration. "It's not like that,"
he said, his voice sharp. "I was born
with it. It's just the way
my brain is developed, and it's not
like getting a cold!" His eye
was intense, his voice rising.

Chip's eyes widened, taking
in his father's outburst.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

"I know you didn't mean it like that,"
he said, his voice softer. "But it's
important to understand that it's
not something I can just get over.
It's a part of how I am."

Chip nodded, feeling the weight
of his father's words. "I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice barely audible. "I..."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his eye softening. "It's okay," he said.
"I know you didn't mean to upset me.
It's just...it's a lot to explain."

Chip nodded, feeling a pang
of guilt. He knew his dad
wasn't mad at him, but it was
still hard to see him so upset.

Plankton's eye searched his son's
face, the anger slowly fading
into something softer. "Look," he said,
his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in,
but I need you to know that I l-love you."

Chip felt a tear slide down
his cheek. "I love you too, Dad,"
he managed to say, his voice
choking with emotion. "But I don't
want you to be in pain."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his expression a mix of love and
sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why
we're talking about this. So you can
understand, so you know."

Chip sniffled, trying to hold back
his tears. "But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his face etched with regret.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"Afraid that you'd think
I was broken. That you'd...
not love me the same. And
I don't usually like to talk
about it to much."

Chip felt his heart ache.
"Dad," he said, his voice
steady despite his emotions.
"I could never think of you
as broken. You're the smartest
person I know. And you're
my hero."

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly at the words, his eye
filling with warmth. "But you don't
see me like that when I'm...
in that state," he said, his voice
barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm
to be feared."

Chip's eyes widened, a look
of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!"
he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his expression one of defeat.
"It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice
resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not
like I can control it."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and fears. He knew
his dad wasn't broken, but he wished
there was something he could do to ease
his pain. "What happens when
you're in that state?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye closed as he tried to
explain. "It's like my brain's in a
whirlwind, and I can't get out,"
he said. "Everything's spinning,
and I can't focus on anything."

"But why do you get so upset
when it happens?" he pressed.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae stilling. "Because
I don't know what's happening,"
he said, his voice strained. "And when
it's over, I don't remember."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart breaking for him. "But
why don't you remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye opening slightly. "It's like
waking up from a deep sleep,"
he murmured. "I know I've been
somewhere, but the details are
always fuzzy."

Chip nodded, trying to imagine
his dad's world. "What do you see?"
he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on a spot on the wall.
"It's like...colors and shapes,"
he said, his voice distant. "They're all
swirling around, so fast that I can't
make sense of them."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?"
he asked, his voice filled with
awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way,"
he murmured. "But it's more...
dis..."

The door to the room creaked open,
interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in,
her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton.
The tension in the air was palpable,
but she offered a small smile of encouragement.
"Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?"

Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
"A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick
with the weight of their conversation.

new great chip learncore vi

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vi
(Autistic author)

Karen rummaged through 
the game drawer, her 
hands shaking slightly. 
She pulled out a game 
of memory matching, 
thinking the simple task 
might help him focus. She 
placed it on the coffee 
table in front of them, 
spreading the cards out.

"It's your turn," she 
said, her voice calm.

Plankton nodded. 
He stared at the cards, 
his eye flickering 
from one to the next. 
Karen watched. Would 
he be able to play? Would 
he understand the 
simplicity of matching 
pictures?

He reached out with 
his tiny hand, paused, 
gaze focused on 
a card with a picture 
of a fish. Then, with a 
quick movement, he 
flipped it over. The card 
was a match. "Fish," he 
whispered, a smile 
creeping onto his lips.

Karen felt a weight 
lift from her chest. 
He had done it, he had 
understood the game. 
Her eyes filled with 
tears as she matched 
the next card. "Good job, 
Plankton," she said, 
trying to keep her 
voice steady. "You 
found the match."

He nodded, his antennae 
twitching with excitement. 
"Fish," he said again, his 
smile growing wider. 
"Fish, Karen."

Karen felt a warmth 
spread through her, 
seeing a glimpse of the 
Plankton she knew, the one 
who loved puzzles and 
challenges. "Yes, 
Plankton, you're doing 
great."

Suddenly, their son
Chip came home 
from a camp trip.

The door slammed, 
and Plankton
shot up. His eye
widened in fear. Karen 
quickly placed her hand 
on his back, trying 
to soothe him.

"It's okay, 
Plankton," she 
whispered. 
"It's just Chip 
coming 
home."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed the 
information. 
"Chip," he murmured, 
his voice quavering. 
"Home."

Chip sees his dad
but doesn't know
of the acquired
Autism. "Dad!" He
yelled excitedly,
running to him with
a tight embrace of a
hug. But it proves to
be too much for Plankton.

The sudden jolt 
of noise and 
movement sent Plankton
into a spiral of 
overstimulation. His 
body convulsed, and he 
shook, his 
tiny form wracked with 
seizures as Karen watched 
helplessly as Chip only held
Plankton tighter.

"Chip, no!" she 
screamed, her voice 
breaking. She jumped 
up from the couch. "Gently, 
gentle!"

But it was too 
late. Plankton's body 
was a blur of spasms, 
his eye rolled back. 
Karen knew this
autistic response; this 
is sensory overload.

"Chip, let go!" Karen 
shouted, her voice 
desperate. But Chip, 
not understanding 
his father's condition, 
only held on tighter. 
"Dad, are you okay?" But
Plankton's body continued 
to convulse violently, 
his tiny limbs flailing. 
Karen's mind raced, 
recalling her research 
on autism and its 
sometimes intense 
physical responses. 
She had to act fast.

Gently but firmly, 
she pried Chip's arms 
from Plankton's trembling 
body and lowered 
his father to the 
floor. "Chip, sweetie, 
I need you to step back," 
she instructed, her voice 
shaking.

Chip's eyes were 
wide with fear. "Dad.." he 
stuttered, trying to reach
for Plankton.

"Chip, please," 
Karen pleaded, her 
voice tight. "Just go to 
your room for a bit.
I need to take care of 
Dad."

With a tearful 
nod, Chip stepped back, 
his screen never leaving 
his father's convulsing 
body. Karen turned her attention 
back to Plankton.

"Shh," she soothed, 
placing a hand 
on his shoulder. "It's 
okay, it's okay." Her voice 
was a gentle lullaby, 
trying to anchor him 
in the chaos. But Plankton's 
body continued to 
shake from the lingering
sensation of Chip's touch.
Karen knew she had to 
move quickly. She 
grabbed a pillow from 
the couch and placed it 
beneath his head, trying 
to reduce the risk of 
injury.

The seizure lasted 
a few more seconds, 
his antennae quivering 
wildly. Then, just as 
suddenly as it had 
begun, it started to
gradually fade. Plankton's 
body went limp, his 
breaths shallow and 
quick.

"It's okay," she 
whispered, her voice 
shaky with relief. "You're 
okay."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and his eye 
flitted open. He looked 
up at Karen, confusion 
and fear etched on 
his face. "Karen?" he 
murmured, his voice 
weak.

"I'm here," she said 
soothingly, stroking his 
back. "You had a 
reaction to Chip, 
Plankton. It's okay now."

His antennae stilled 
for a moment as he 
focused on her voice. 
"Chip," he repeated, 
his gaze distant. "Too 
much."

Karen nodded. "I know, 
Plankton. I'll explain to 
Chip. He didn't mean 
to scare you." She 
could hear Chip's 
sobs from his room, the 
sound piercing the 
silence of the living 
room.

Plankton's antennae 
moved slightly. "Chip," 
he murmured. "Not mad."

Karen felt a knot 
loosen in her chest. 
"No, Plankton," she 
whispered. "Chip's not 
mad, honey. He loves 
you, just like I do."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed her words. 
"Love," he murmured, 
his gaze finding hers. 
"Karen loves Plankton.
Chip loves Plankton."

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her tears. 
"Yes, we both love 
you so much," she said, 
her voice thick with 
emotion. "We're going 
to help you through this."

Plankton's eye searched 
her face, his expression 
unreadable. "Help," he 
whispered. "Karen helps."

Karen's chest tightened 
with the weight of 
his trust. She knew this 
was just the beginning, 
that their lives had 
shifted in a way she had 
never anticipated. But she 
was determined to be 
his rock, to navigate 
this new reality with 
patience and love.

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi

(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's heart 
swells with compassion. 
"It's ok, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "We 
don't have to play anymore."

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he nods slowly. 
"No fish," he repeats, 
his voice a sigh of 
relief.

Sponge Bob's hand 
freezes in mid-air, 
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face for 
any sign of anger or 
disappointment. But all 
he sees is a glimmer of 
understanding in his 
friend's eye.

"Thank Sponge 
Bob for being patient."
Plankton says to him.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
eyes still filled with 
concern. "I'll be patient, 
Plankton," he promises. "Can
I ask how you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Pan," he 
murmurs, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only
Karen and SpongeBob know."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with shock. "What?!"
he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt you?"

Plankton nods, his antennas 
still low. "Pan," he repeats, 
his voice shaking. "Pan," he 
says again, his voice 
softer. "Krabs hit on head."
Sponge Bob's anger 
towards Mr. Krabs is 
immediate and intense. 
"I can't believe he'd do 
that to you," he says, 
his voice low and 
teary.

"Mr. Krabs did to protect
the krabby patty." 
Karen interjects quickly, 
sensing the tension. 
"He doesn't know how
badly he hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, 
his thoughts racing. He can't
believe Mr. Krabs could 
do something like that, even 
in the heat of the moment.

"I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," 
he says firmly, his voice 
laced with determination. 
"He needs to know what..."

"No!"

The sharpness of Plankton's 
voice cuts through the 
air like a knife, his 
antennas shooting up in 
alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he 
says, his eye wide with fear. 
"No tell."

Sponge Bob's anger 
fades slightly, replaced 
by confusion. "Why not?" 
he asks, his voice 
gentle. "He needs to know 
so he can understand.."

Plankton's antennas 
quiver anxiously. "Krabs 
not know," he whispers, his 
eye pleading with Sponge 
Bob. "Safe here."

Sponge Bob's 
confusion deepens. "But 
Plankton, if Mr. Krabs 
doesn't know, how will he 
make it up to you?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his eye darting 
back and forth between 
Karen and Sponge Bob. "No 
make up," he murmurs. "Just 
no satisfaction for Krabs."
Sponge Bob's mind 
spins with the implications. 
He knows Mr. Krabs 
would never hurt 
anyone that much 
intentionally, even Plankton;
but the thought of his 
boss not knowing the 
extent of his actions 
troubles him.
"I won't tell him," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
soft with reassurance.
But of course, Mr. Krabs
comes in. "What in the
name of Neptune are
ye doing? I gave ye the
day off yesterday!"
"The Krusty Krab is closed on
Sunday, and it's Sunday today."
SpongeBob reminds his boss.
"Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks
at Plankton and his eyes narrow.
"What's going on here?" he asks,
suspicion heavy in his voice.
Plankton's antennas droop even
lower, and he looks down at the
floor.
Plankton speaks first. "Go 
fish," he whispers, his 
eye darting up to meet 
Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in 
quickly, trying to cover 
for his friend. "We were 
just playing a game," he 
says, forcing a smile.
Mr. Krabs eyes them 
both skeptically.
"Well, I hope it wasn't 
about stealing me secret 
formular," he says, his 
claws tapping 
nervously.
"No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge 
Bob says quickly, "just a 
friendly game."
Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly at the 
mention of the Krabby 
Patty formula, but he 
remains silent.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow further.
"What's wrong with 
you, Plankton?" he 
asks, his voice filled 
with concern and a 
touch of irritation.
"You're acting strangely
quiet even for you."
Plankton's antennas 
quiver.
Sponge Bob's heart 
paces. He doesn't want 
to betray Plankton's trust.
"It's nothing," Plankton 
says, his voice 
forced. "Just a little 
game, Krabs wanna play."
"Fine I'll play, but I got my
eye on ye, Plankton."
Mr. Krabs says, his tone 
still suspicious as he 
sits down to join them. 
Sponge Bob's eyes dart to 
Karen, who gives a 
nod of understanding. 
They'll keep the secret and
hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure
it out.

"Let's play Uno!" Sponge
Bob says, getting out the new
card game, dealing the cards.
Plankton's antennas 
perk up at the mention 
of a new game, and he 
eagerly takes his cards. 
Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
plays along, eyeing Plankton 
carefully.
Then, it happens.
Mr. Krabs slaps a card 
down on the pile and 
excitedly yells, "Uno!"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
straight up, and his eye 
widen with sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob's concerned, 
but Mr. Krabs 
is too busy gloating to 
notice. "Yee-haw!" he 
crows. "I win again!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver as he tries to 
process the sudden 
loudness and change in 
the atmosphere. 
Mr. Krabs looks at him, 
his expression puzzled.
"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he asks, 
his voice laced with 
disdain. "Lost your 
competitive spirit?"
Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton's just 
excited, Mr. Krabs," he 
says quickly. "Isn't that right, 
Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
wave erratically, and 
his voice is a mix of 
fear and confusion. 
"Yes, Krabs," he stammers, 
his eye darting around 
the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes."
Mr. Krabs looks at him 
oddly but shrugs it off, 
his attention already 
returning to the game. 
"Alright, let's keep playing," 
he says, dealing out 
more cards.
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, 
his antennas twitching with 
the effort to keep up.
"Fish," he murmurs to 
himself, trying to find 
a familiar 
word. His hands 
shake as he holds 
his cards, the 
world around him a 
cacophony of sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob notices 
Plankton's distress and 
quickly changes the 
topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, 
have you ever played 
Chess?"
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
light up. "Chess? The 
game of kings and 
conquers!" he exclaims. 
"I'd love a round!"
SpongeBob gets
the chess game.

The chess pieces are set 
up, and Mr. Krabs 
begins to play, his 
claws clacking against 
the board as he moves 
his pieces. Plankton 
watches, his antennas 
still, his eye 
focused.
"Your move, Plankton," 
Mr. Krabs says, his 
claws tapping the 
edge of the board 
impatiently.

But Plankton doesn't 
move. He just sits there, 
staring at the 
chessboard, his cards 
forgotten in his hand. 
"What's with you?" 
Mr. Krabs asks, 
his voice filled with 
exasperation. "You're 
taking forever!"

Sponge Bob's heart 
skips a beat. He knows 
he can't let Mr. Krabs 
see how much Plankton's 
been affected by the 
accident. "It's ok 
Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly. "Plankton's just 
thinking of his next 
move."

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't push the issue. 
He's too focused on 
his own strategy, his 
claws moving pieces with 
calculated precision.
But Plankton remains 
frozen, his gaze 
unwavering on the 
board. His antennas 
twitch slightly, a 
sign of his racing 
thoughts.

After several moments of 
silence, Mr. Krabs 
finally snaps. "Plankton,
it's your turn!" he says, 
his patience wearing 
thin.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, and his eye 
flits to the board. 
"Fish?" he asks, his 
voice unsure.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his eyes 
narrowing. "What do 
fish have to do with 
chess?" he asks, 
confusion etched 
deeply on his face.

Sponge Bob's heart 
sinks as he sees the 
puzzlement in Mr. 
Krabs' eyes. He 
quickly jumps in. "Oh, 
Plankton was just 
thinking out loud," he 
says, trying to 
lighten the mood.

Mr. Krabs grunts, 
but his suspicion 
doesn't fade. "You've 
always been a weird 
little fellow, Plankton, but 
this is something else," 
he says, his tone a mix 
of curiosity and 
exasperation.

Sponge Bob's heart 
thumps in his chest 
as he tries to 
diverge the conversation. 
"Why don't we talk 
about something else?" 
he suggests, his eyes 
darting back to the 
chessboard.

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his eyes narrowed. 
But Plankton's antennas 
remain still, his 
expression vacant.
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice distant.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
thins to a thread. 
"Fish?" he repeats, his 
confusion palpable. 
"What's going on with 
you, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble, his eye
still fixated on the 
board. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
uncertain.

Mr. Krabs leans 
forward, his eyes 
studying Plankton 
closely. "You okay, 
tiny fry?" he asks, 
hinting concern 
despite the 
sarcasm.

Plankton's antennas 
quiver slightly. "Fish," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Sponge Bob's 
heart clenches at the 
word, understanding 
now that it's not just 
a game for Plankton; it's 
his way of trying to 
make sense of the 
world around him.

Mr. Krabs, however, 
simply sighs and shakes 
his head. "You always 
have to make everything 
so complicated," he 
mumbles, his voice 
tired. "Why can't you just 
play the game like 
everyone else?" He yells
tipping the board over to
where the chess pieces
fall to the ground by Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the sound, and 
his eye dart to the 
upset board, his 
expression one of deep 
distress. "No fish," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking.
Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his suspicion growing. 
"What's going on with 
you?" he asks again.

"Fish, fish, fish!" 

new a journey to autism gamefic vi

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

new viii sevener xviii iv eighteen 7 8

8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

new march eight viii month mars march 1 coquette

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

new iiii iii vii dot art text art ascii art

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


Beginning phase

Prodrome stage
During the prodromal stage some people can tell when a seizure is on its way. 
Not all people experience this stage. Some common signs can include: 
Mood changes
Anxiety
Feeling lightheaded
Difficulty sleeping
Difficulty staying focused
Behaviour changes.

Aura
Auras are generally considered an early part of the seizure. Symptoms of an aura may include: 
Déjà vu (a sense that something has happened before when in fact it hasn’t)
Jamais vu (a feeling that you’re seeing something you know well for the first time)
Odd smells, sounds or tastes
Dizziness
Vision difficulties
Numbness or ‘pins and needles’ in parts of the body
Nausea
Headache
Panic
Feelings of intense fear
Sometimes a person may have an aura which doesn’t progress to become a more severe or prolonged seizure. Some people don’t experience an aura at all, and their seizure has no early warning signs.

Middle (ictal) phase
The middle (ictal) stage of a seizure is called the ictal phase. It’s the time from the first symptom to the end of the seizure activity. It is during this time that intense electrical activity is occurring in the brain. Some common signs of this phase include:
Loss of awareness
Memory lapse
Feeling confused
Difficulty hearing
Odd smells, sounds or tastes
Difficulty speaking or saying strange words
Twitching
Loss of muscle control
Repeated movements (such as lip smacking or chewing)
Body convulsions
Racing heart
Trouble breathing

Ending (post-ictal) phase
The final post-ictal stage occurs after the active (ictal) part of the seizure. This is the recovery stage and during this phase any physical after effects of the seizure are felt. The type of seizure and the part of the brain involved will determine how long it takes for a person to return to their usual self. 
Some common signs of this phase include:
Confusion
Lack of consciousness
Tiredness (fatigue)
Exhaustion
Headache
Loss of bladder or bowel control
Fear and anxiety
Frustration
Shame or embarrassment
Thirst
Nausea
Sore muscles
Weakness in parts of the body
Injury (head, cuts, broken bones)
Once the seizure is over, some people may remember having one, remember parts of it, or not remember at all.   

new neurodisability neurodisabilities team special olympics spasm

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

new vii mercaptan xvi

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 13


They play for a 
few minutes in 
silence, the sound 
of slapping 
cards the only noise 
in the room.

Hanna's cheerfulness 
begins to grate on 
Plankton's nerves, 
his antennae 
twitching with 
each of her 
exclamations of 
"Oh!" and "Wow!" every 
time she wins a round.

Karen watches the 
exchange, her eyes 
flickering between 
them. "Plankton," 
she says softly, 
placing a hand on 
his shoulder. 
"Why don't we 
take a break?"
Plankton sighs, 
his antennae 
drooping. "I'm 
fine," he mutters.
Hanna's smile 
doesn't falter. "It's 
okay if you need 
to—"

He cuts her off 
with a glare. "I said 
I'm fine," he snaps, 
his voice tight. Karen 
squeezes his shoulder, 
her gaze firm. "Plankton," 
she says, her voice 
soft but firm. "Take a 
moment. We're all 
trying to make 
this work."

Plankton huffs, 
his antennae stiffening. 
He knows she's right, 
but the cast on 
his leg is a constant 
reminder of his 
weakness, and Hanna's 
cheeriness is grating 
on his nerves.

He takes a deep 
breath, trying to 
rein in his 
frustration. "Okay," 
he says through 
gritted teeth. "A break."
Hanna's smile 
doesn't waver. "Great!" 
she says. "How abo---"

Her words are 
cut off as Plankton 
swings his cast-covered 
leg around, 
wincing slightly as 
he does so. Hanna 
watches him, her 
concern etched 
on her face. "Careful," 
she warns gently.
"I've got it," 
Plankton snaps, 
his pride bruised. 
He hobbles into 
his bedroom, 
his crutches echoing 
against the tiles.

Karen sighs 
heavily, her eyes 
following him. "I'm 
sorry," Hanna says 
quickly. "I didn't mean 
to overstep." Karen 
shakes her head. "No, 
it's okay," she says. 
"He's just...going 
through a tough 
time."

Hanna nods, 
her eyes filled 
with empathy. "I can 
see that," she says. 
"But he's lucky to 
have you." Karen 
smiles sadly. "Thanks, 
Hanna." They sit in 
silence for a moment 
before Karen stands 
up. "I'll go check 
on him," she says, 
leaving the living 
room.

In the bedroom, 
Plankton is lying 
on the bed, his 
crutches leaning 
against the wall. He 
looks up as Karen enters, 
his expression 
unreadable.

"You okay?" she 
asks, her voice 
gentle. Plankton 
shrugs. "I'm fine," 
he says, his voice 
clipped. Karen sighs. 
"You know, you don't 
have to be tough 
all the time," she says, 
sitting beside him. 
"We're all here to 
support you."

Plankton turns 
his head to 
look at her, his 
single eye 
studying her face. 
"I know," he says, 
his voice softer. 
"It's just...embarrassing."

Karen nods, 
her hand 
resting on 
his arm. 
"But you're not 
weak for needing 
help. It won't be
forever."

Plankton's eye 
blinks slowly, 
his antennae 
drooping. "I know, 
but it's just 
so...humiliating."

Karen's grip 
on his arm tightens. 
"You're not weak, 
Plankton," she says 
firmly. "You're strong. 
You're going 
through a tough 
time, and that's okay."

He looks away, 
his antennae 
waving slightly. 
"It's just...I don't 
like feeling so...so..."
He struggles to 
find the words. 
"Vulnerable," 
she fills in 
gently. He nods, 
his eye closing.
"Exactly."

Karen's hand 
strokes his arm. 
"We all have our 
moments," she says. 
"It's okay to not 
be okay."

Plankton's eye 
remains closed, his 
expression thoughtful. 
"Thanks," he mumbles, 
his antennae 
lifting slightly. 
They sit in 
companionable silence 
for a moment before 
Plankton sighs. "I'm 
just tired," he says, 
his voice weary. "Can 
we just...rest?"

Karen nods, her 
face gentle. "Of 
course," she says. 
"Why don't you take 
a nap? I'll tell Hanna 
we're taking a 
break." She stands 
and leans over to 
kiss his forehead.
"You're doing 
better than you 
think," she whispers.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch. "Thanks," 
he murmurs, his voice 
soft. He watches as 
she leaves the room, 
his mind racing with 
thoughts. He's not 
used to feeling so...
dependent. But he 
knows Karen's right. 
He needs to accept 
the help and move 
forward. With a 
sigh, he closes his 
eye and tries to 
comfortable, the cast 
on his leg feeling 
like a lead weight.

The house is quiet, 
only the faint 
hum of the refrigerator 
breaking the silence. 
Plankton's mind wanders, 
thinking about his 
recovery. He's always 
been the one to push 
through, to never 
let anything hold 
him back. But this... 
this was different. 
He couldn't fight or 
scheme his way out 
of a broken leg.

After a few 
moments of contemplation, 
his eye snaps open. 
The door creaks 
slightly as it opens. 
Hanna pokes her 
head in, her smile 
slightly more tentative 
than before. "Is it 
okay if I come in?" 
she asks softly.

Plankton nods, 
his antennae still. 
"What is it?"
Her cheeks flush 
slightly. "I just 
wanted to check 
on you," she says, 
stepping into the 
room. "And to...apologize."

"For what?" he asks, 
his voice gruff.

Hanna takes a 
deep breath. "I'm 
sorry if I was too 
enthusiastic," she 
says, her eyes 
meeting his. "I just 
wanted to m-"
"Make me feel better?" 
Plankton finishes 
for her, his tone 
sarcastic. Hanna 
swallows, her smile 
slightly wobbly. "I 
guess," she admits. 
"I just didn't know 
how else t---"

Her words are 
interrupted by 
a soft knock on 
the doorframe. 
They both look up 
to see SpongeBob 
peering in, his 
face etched with 
concern. "Hey, buddy," 
he says gently. "How 
are you holding up?"

Plankton's antennae 
perk up slightly. 
"I'm fine," he says. Sponge 
Bob nods. "Well, if 
you need anything, 
just holler," he says
before leaving.

Hanna looks at 
Plankton, her eyes 
filled with 
concern. "I'm sorry," 
she repeats. "I di-"
"Don't," Plankton says, 
cutting her off.

Her smile falters. 
"What?" "You're 
being a...jerk." He
answers her.

Hanna's eyes 
widen in surprise. 
"I'm sorry," she 
stammers. "I didn't mean 
to be...I just want to 
make sure yo--"

"You're annoying, Hanna!
I have enough to deal
with without you
pestering me," Plankton
snaps, his antennae
quivering with agitation.

Hanna's smile fades,
and she takes a step 
back, her eyes 
welling with 
hurt. "I'm sorry," 
she says again. "I-I-I-I…"
But Plankton's 
not done.

"You're just nosy." Hanna's 
eyes fill with tears, 
but she fights them back. 
"I'm just trying to 
be your friend," she 
says, her voice shaking.

"Get out! I don't need
you, and it's none
of your business!"
Plankton's voice is sharp, 
his antennae stiff with 
anger. Hanna's smile 
crumbles.

"Plankton, I just—" 
she starts, but he 
interrupts again. 
"What? Just what, Hanna?
You wanna just stick 
around and gawk at 
me, or are you gonna 
go?" His voice is 
bitter, and she can 
see the frustration 
boiling behind his 
eye. Her smile is 
completely gone now, 
replaced by a look 
of sadness. "You 
know, Plankton," she 
says, her voice 
shaky, "you don't 
have to—"

"Don't tell me what 
I have to do!" 
Plankton yells, his 
small frame 
trembling. "I know 
what I need, and it's 
not you poking 
your nose into my 
business!" Hanna's 
hands clench into 
fists at her sides.

"I'm not poking 
my nose in," she 
says, her voice 
strained. "I'm just 
trying to help!" 
Her words are met 
with silence. 
Plankton's eye narrows, 
his antennae 
quivering with 
rage.

"You think you're 
helping?" he spits. 
"You're not. You're 
just making 
everything worse. 
Why can't you just 
leave me alone?" 
Hanna's lip quivers, 
but she squares 
her shoulders. "I'm not 
going anywhere," she 
says firmly. "I care 
abou–"

"You don't care 
about me," Plankton 
snaps. "You just 
want to know 
what happened 
so you can be the hero 
that 'saved' me." His 
eye glares at her, 
his antennae vibrating 
with accusation. 
"Well, my life doesn't
involve you, Hanna. So just 
stay out of it!"

Hanna's eyes 
brim with tears, 
but she refuses to 
let them fall. 
"I do care," she 
whispers. "And I'm 
not trying to be a her-"

But Plankton's 
interrupted her again. 
"You don't know 
anything about me," 
he says, his voice 
cold. "You're just 
here because Karen 
let you, but I don't 
want you here." Hanna's 
cheeks flush with 
hurt. "Plankton, I'm 
trying to be a good 
friend, but you're 
just pushing me 
aw-"

"I don't need 
a friend like you," 
Plankton says, 
his voice hard. "Now 
get out." Hanna's eyes 
fill with tears, 
but she nods, 
turning to leave. He
slams the bedroom
door behind her.

In the living room
Karen looks up to
see her, her eyes
red and puffy from
crying. "Hanna?"

new kneesurgery hannacore 13

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 18


"What are you 
guys doing here?" 
he asked, his voice 
still gruff but with 
a hint of confusion.
Sponge Bob 
smiled, his thumb 
still tracing 
the edge of 
Plankton's cast. "We 
just wanted to 
make sure you're 
okay," he said. 
Plankton's antennae 
twitched. "I'm fine," 
he said, his 
tone gruff.

Karen 
stood up, her 
movements smooth 
and efficient. 
"Why don't we get 
you into your chair?" 
she suggested, 
picking up his 
crutches. Plankton 
nodded, his 
movements slow 
and deliberate as 
he carefully swung 
his casted leg over 
the side of the 
couch. With a 
grunt, he hoisted 
himself up, 
balancing on his 
good leg. Patrick 
watched, his 
eyes wide with 
interest. "Look 
at him go," he 
whispered, his voice 
filled with 
awe. "It's like he's 
learning to walk 
all over again
like a wittle baby."

Plankton shot 
Patrick a 
glare, his face 
flushing with 
embarrassment.

"I'm not a baby!" 
he snapped, his 
voice echoing 
in the quiet 
living room.

"Patrick, that's 
not helping," Hanna 
whispered, trying 
not to laugh. 
Sponge Bob's 
expression was one 
of shock. "Patrick, 
that's not nice," he 
admonished gently.

Patrick 
scrunched his face 
up in confusion. 
"But he looks like 
one," he said, 
his voice 
innocent. Plankton 
huffed. "No, I'm not!"
But Patrick's on a roll.

"You know what 
else babies have?" 
he said, his 
voice rising. 
"Naps!" Plankton's 
face grew redder, 
his antennae 
twitching with 
anger. "Patrick," 
Hanna warned, 
but Patrick 
was on a 
roll. "Hey, Plankie, you
need help while 
you're all broken.
Wa-a-agh, wa-a-agh!"

The room fell 
silent. Plankton 
stared at 
Patrick, his 
single eye 
twitching.

"That's it," he 
said, his voice 
laced with sarcasm. 
"I guess I'll just 
have to take naps 
like a baby 
now." Hanna 
could see the 
hurt in his eye.

With a 
quick motion, 
Plankton set down 
his crutches and 
stood up, hopping 
on one foot.
Without another 
word, he turned 
and limped away, 
his casted leg 
thumping against 
the floor with each 
step as he 
headed towards 
his bedroom. The 
group watched, 
stunned, as he 
closed the door 
behind him with 
a slam.

Hanna's 
laughter died 
in her throat, 
replaced by a 
look of horror. 
"Oh no," she 
whispered. Karen 
sighed, setting 
down the 
magazines. "I'll go 
talk to him," she 
said firmly. But 
before she could 
move, they heard  
sobs from 
behind the door. 
Her heart 
aching, she 
knocked softly. "Plankton, 
are you okay?"
The sobs grew 
louder, and 
she exchanged 
worried glances 
with Sponge Bob 
and Patrick, who 
looked equally 
mortified.

"I'll go," 
Sponge Bob 
volunteered, standing 
up. He approached 
the door, his 
steps tentative. "Plankton,
buddy, it's me," he 
said gently. 
"Can I come in?"

The sobbing 
subsided for a 
moment before 
Plankton's voice, 
muffled by 
the door, 
replied, "I don't 
want to see any of 
you right now."
The words hit Hanna 
like a brick, 
her chest tightening 
with sadness. 
Sponge Bob looked 
back at them, his 
expression pained. 
He shrugged 
helplessly before 
sitting back down.

Patrick's 
face fell. "I didn't 
mean to make him 
cry," he said, his 
voice small. Hanna 
nodded, her eyes 
still on the 
closed door. "We 
know you didn't, 
Patrick," she said, 
trying to 
comfort him. "But 
sometimes words can 
hurt, even if we 
don't mean them to."

Sponge Bob 
placed a hand 
on Patrick's 
shoulder. "We'll 
apologize later," 
he said firmly. "But 
right now, let's 
just give him some 
space." They both
left, the only 
sound being Plankton's 
muted sobs. Karen 
stood, her heart 
heavy with 
disappointment at 
his pain. She 
moved to the door, 
wanting to comfort 
Plankton but 
respecting his 
request for solitude. 
Her hand hovered 
above the 
knob, unsure 
of what to do.
Through the crack 
in the door, she 
could see 
Plankton's form 
hunched over 
his bed, his 
tiny fists 
clenched. His 
sobs grew quieter, 
his breaths 
coming in 
shuddering gasps. 
Karen's chest 
tightened, watching 
his vulnerability.

With a deep 
breath, she 
pushed the door 
open, moving 
slowly towards 
the bed. "Plankton," 
she said softly, 
her voice 
soothing. He 
looked up, his 
eye red and 
swollen. "I just 
want to check 
on you," she 
said, her tone 
gentle. "You don't 
have to talk if 
you don't want to, 
but I'm here."
He nodded, 
his antennae 
drooping. Karen 
sat on the 
edge of the bed, 
careful not to 
disturb his cast.

"You've been 
through a lot," 
she said, her voice 
soft. "It's okay 
to feel upset."
Plankton's chest 
heaved, his 
sobs growing 
softer.

"But you know, 
tomorrow we have 
that appointment 
with the doctor,"
Karen reminded 
him gently. "They'll 
check how your leg's 
doing, make sure 
everything's 
on track. And Hanna
is coming along, as
her home is still
under repair."

Plankton sniffled, 
his eye still 
wet. "Yeah, I know," 
he mumbled, his voice 
small. Karen 
smiled gently. "But you 
don't have to push 
yourself too hard. 
You're still healing."

The next morning, Karen
gets out of bed early, 
the sun not yet fully 
risen outside. She 
can hear Plankton's 
snores as she sneaks
past his bed.
Hanna stirs in 
the guest room, 
waking up. "How's 
he doing?" she asks, coming
into their room.
"Asleep," Karen whispers. 
"Let's get ready for 
his appointment."
Hanna nods. "What time 
is it?" "Five thirty," 
Karen says, glancing 
at her clock. "We 
have to leave in a
moment." Plankton's snores 
grow softer. Hanna 
looks at Karen, 
who's gathering 
his crutches.
"Should we wake him?"

Karen nods. "We have 
to. The doctor 
wanted us there early 
to check the cast."
They tiptoe over 
to Plankton's 
bedside. Karen 
places a hand on 
his shoulder. "Plankton, 
sweetie," she says 
gently. "Time to wake 
up." His snores 
stop abruptly, and 
his single eye snaps 
open. "What's going 
on?" he croaks, 
his voice rough 
from sleep. Hanna 
smiles tentatively. 
"We have an 
appointment with 
the doctor," Karen 
reminds him, 
helping him sit up. 
"We need to get 
going." Plankton groans, 
his casted leg 
thumping against 
the bedframe. "Okay, 
okay," he says, 
rubbing his 
eye.

Karen loaded his wheelchair
into the back as Plankton used
his crutches to get in the car.

The drive was quiet, 
each of them lost in 
their thoughts. Plankton 
was nervous about the 
doctor's visit, his 
leg throbbing with 
each bump in the 
road. Hanna sat 
beside him.

When they arrived 
at the hospital, the 
waiting room was 
deserted except for 
the receptionist, who 
gave them a knowing 
smile. "Mr. Plankton," 
she said, her 
voice cheerful. "Right 
this way." Plankton 
grimaced as he 
wheeled himself in. The 
doctor, a stern-looking 
crab, took one 
look at his cast 
and said, "Ah, yes. 
Your appointment. Let's 
have a look."

Setting up the x-ray, the
doctor turns to Plankton, 
his expression 
professional. "You've 
got quite the cast," 
he says, eyeing it 
curiously. Plankton 
nods, gritting his teeth 
as he lifts his leg 
up onto the 
examination table. 
Karen's hand rests 
on his shoulder, 
offering silent support.

The doctor 
taps the cast. "How's 
the pain?"
Plankton's antennae 
twitch. "Better," 
he says, his voice 
strained. Karen 
squeezes his shoulder. 
Hanna, seated 
beside Karen, holds 
her hand.

new kneesurgery hannacore 18

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 17


When Karen 
returns, she 
hands him the pill 
and a glass of water.
Plankton takes them 
without a word, 
swallows hard, and 
sets the glass down.
The medication 
doesn't kick in 
right away, but 
his expression 
eases slightly.
Hanna watches 
from the 
corner of her eye.
Plankton shifts, his 
cast knocking against 
her side. Hanna moves 
back slightly. "What do you 
wanna watch?"
she asks, trying to 
fill the void.
He shrugs.

"How about we 
find something we 
can all enjoy?" Karen 
suggests, settling on a
movie with a mix of 
action and humor. They 
watch in silence, the 
tension in the room 
slowly dissipating.

As the movie plays, 
Plankton's eyelid 
starts to droop, the
medication finally 
taking hold. 
Without realizing 
it, his head slowly
slumps to the side,
until it's resting on 
Hanna's shoulder.
Hanna freezes.

Her heart thumps 
in her chest. This is 
a moment she never
expected. She glances 
at Karen, whose 
expression is a mix 
of amusement and 
sympathy. Karen nods 
slightly, and Hanna 
understands the silent 
message: let him be.

The movie plays on, 
the sound of explosions 
and laughter 
filling the room. 
But all Hanna can 
focus on is the 
warmth of Plankton's 
head on her 
shoulder. His breathing 
steadies into a 
soft snore, and she 
can't help but smile.

Her arm is 
pinned awkwardly, but 
she doesn't dare 
move. Instead, she 
adjusts her position 
slightly, trying 
to find comfort 
without disturbing him. 
Karen notices, a 
smile tugging at 
the corners of her 
mouth, and she 
whispers, "Let him sleep.
He needs it."

Plankton's head remained 
nestled on Hanna's shoulder, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly with each snore.
Hanna felt a warmth 
spread through her, 
despite the awkwardness. 
She looked over at 
him, his face 
relaxed in sleep.

Plankton's snores 
were deep and 
even, his body 
completely relaxed 
against Hanna, his 
mouth agape. Karen
chuckled quietly.

"Looks like he's 
out for the count," 
she whispered. Hanna 
nodded, her smile 
widening. She didn't 
move an inch, afraid 
of waking him. They 
watched the movie 
in silence, the 
comfort of Plankton's 
weight on her 
shoulder growing 
familiar. Karen 
put a finger to 
her lips, 
shushing her.

As the credits 
started to roll, 
Hanna glanced at 
Plankton again as
she reached for the 
remote, hitting the 
off button to 
avoid waking him.
Karen chuckled, 
seeing Hanna's 
concern. "I think 
he's out cold," she 
whispered. Hanna 
swallowed a 
laugh, her eyes 
twinkling. Karen 
stood. "Let's get him 
comfortable," she 
whispered.

Together, they 
managed to lift 
his casted leg and 
place it on the 
ottoman. Hanna 
carefully shifted 
his head to a 
pillow, his snores 
barely changing 
pitch. Plankton 
moved slightly, 
his snores grew 
little louder as 
his head found the 
cushion. Hanna 
couldn't resist a 
soft giggle, which 
caused Plankton to 
shuffle slightly 
but not wake.

Karen shot her 
a look that 
clearly said 'not 
another sound'. 
They both 
settled in, 
exhaustion from 
the long night 
still lingering. 
The living room 
was bathed in 
the soft glow of 
morning light, 
the curtains 
filtering the 
brightness.

Plankton's chest 
moved up and 
down in a 
steady rhythm, 
his snores 
fading as he 
moved deeper into 
sleep. Hanna 
couldn't help but 
feel a pang of 
guilt for her 
earlier actions. 
But as she watched 
his peaceful 
expression, she 
knew she had to 
make amends.

Karen 
nudged her. "Why 
don't you sit with 
him for a bit?" 
she suggested. 
Hanna nodded, 
swapping places 
with Karen. She sat 
carefully, making 
sure not to disturb 
his sleep. His 
breathing was 
even, and she 
could see the 
exhaustion etched 
on his face.

She studied his 
features, feeling a
surge of 
compassion. Plankton 
wasn't just a 
nemesis or a 
challenge; he was 
someone in pain, 
someone who needed 
support. Hanna 
vowed to be 
more considerate, 
more sensitive to 
his feelings.
Her eyes drifted to 
his cast, the stark 
white a 
contrast to the 
soft pillow. It 
was a stark 
reminder of his 
vulnerability.

Hanna's thoughts were 
interrupted by a 
soft knock 
on the door. She 
turned to see 
SpongeBob 
peeking his head 
inside. He saw 
Plankton sleeping 
and his expression 
changed to one of 
concern. "How's 
he doing?" he 
asked in a low 
voice. Karen 
smiled, feeling a 
warmth in her 
chest. "He's okay," 
she whispered. "Just 
sleeping."
Sponge Bob 
padded over to 
the couch, 
his eyes on 
Plankton.

"Can I sit?" 
he asked Hanna, 
his eyes hopeful. 
She nodded, scooting 
over to make room. 
The three of them 
sat in quiet 
companionship, 
each lost in 
their own 
thoughts. Sponge Bob 
reached out a hand, 
his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's 
face, and placed it 
gently on his 
cast, his 
thumb tracing 
the edge of 
Plankton's cast. Plankton 
stirred, his snores 
becoming softer.
Sponge Bob's 
expression was one 
of pure empathy, 
his eyes 
reflecting the 
concern he felt 
for his friend. 
Hanna watched, 
touched by the 
genuine care.

The silence 
was broken by 
another knock on 
the door. This time 
it was Patrick, 
his face scrunched 
in confusion. 
"What's going on?" 
he asked, his voice 
low. Karen 
whispered, "Plankton's 
sleeping." 
Patrick's eyes 
widened, and he 
looked at the 
crutches propped 
against the wall.
"Oh," he said, 
his voice 
hushed. He sat 
down on the floor, 
his gaze 
following theirs 
to Plankton.

"How'd he get 
the big white 
stick on his leg?" 
Patrick whispered.
Hanna and Karen 
shared a look, 
then Hanna 
explained, "It's a 
cast, Pat. He broke 
his leg and the 
doctors put it on 
to help him heal,
remember?"
Patrick nodded 
slowly, his eyes 
still wide. "Oh, right. 
But why's he sleeping?"

"He's taking a 
nap," Karen 
said gently. "The 
medicine makes him 
tired."

Patrick nodded, 
his eyes still 
on Plankton. "Can I 
see?" he asked, 
his voice filled with 
a mix of curiosity 
and concern. 
Hanna and Karen 
shared a look, 
then nodded in 
unison. "Just be 
careful," Karen 
whispered.

Patrick 
crawled closer, his 
body moving with 
the grace of a 
bull in a china 
shop, despite his 
intention to be 
gentle. He studied 
Plankton's cast with 
intense interest, 
his finger 
poised just above 
it. "What happens 
if I to-"
Hanna's hand 
snapped out, 
stopping him. "Don't 
touch it," she 
whispered firmly. 
Patrick's eyes 
widened in surprise. 
"But I just 
wanted to-"
"Patrick," Karen 
interrupted, her 
tone gentle but 
firm. "Plankton's leg 
is very sore. We have 
to be careful."

He nodded, his 
face a picture of 
understanding. "Oh," 
he said, sitting 
back on his 
heels. "Is it gonna 
fall off?" 
Hanna and Karen 
shared a look, 
their expressions a mix 
of amusement and 
concern. "No, Patrick," 
Hanna said, keeping 
her voice low. "The cast 
will stay on until 
his leg is all better."

Patrick nodded 
slowly, his eyes 
still glued to 
Plankton's cast. "Can 
I tell him I'm sorry?" 
he asked. Hanna 
looked at Karen, 
who nodded. "Yes, 
you can," she said. "But 
you'll have to wait 
until he wakes up."

Patrick leaned in, 
his face just 
inches from 
Plankton's as 
he whispered, 
"Hey, Plankton. 
You okay?" 
Plankton's snores 
continued unabated.

"I think he's 
comfortable," 
Hanna said, 
keeping her voice 
low. "Let's not 
wake him."
Patrick nodded, 
his curiosity 
now focused 
on the cast. 
He reached out 
his hand and 
tapped it lightly.
The sudden 
contact made 
Plankton flinch, 
his eye shooting 
open. "Whaa-"

He took in 
his surroundings 
quickly, his eye 
widening when he 
saw Hanna, Karen, 
and Sponge Bob 
sitting around him. 
"What's going on!" 
he croaked, his 
voice groggy from 
sleep and pain 
medication.

"You were 
sleeping," Karen 
explained, her 
voice soft. Plankton 
blinked, his mind 
fuzzy. "Is the movie
over?"

"Yes," Hanna said, 
smiling gently. "You 
fell asleep, on my sh-
I mean, you fell 
asleep during it."
Plankton's gaze 
shifted to Hanna, 
his expression 
uncertain.

new kneesurgery hannacore 17

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 15


After a moment, 
Hanna reaches 
over, placing 
a handful of 
puzzle pieces 
within his 
reach. "Here, let's 
make it fair," she says, 
smiling at him. He
nods.

But as Plankton
picks up a piece
she jumps in, 
snatching a
piece from his 
hand before 
he can. "I ca--"

He cuts her off.
"Oh, boo hoo! You 
know what? Why don't 
you just do the whole 
thing yourself?" He grabs his
puzzle pieces and 
throws them at her, 
his eye flashing as he
gets his crutches and
leaves the room.
The door slams 
shut.

"I'm sorry," Hanna 
whimpers, her 
eyes filling with 
tears again.
Karen sighs, 
picking up the 
scattered puzzle 
pieces. "Give him 
some space," she says, 
placing a hand on 
Hanna's shoulder. "He's 
just overwhelmed."
Hanna nods, 
wiping at her 
eyes. "I know," she 
says, her voice 
small. "But I just 
wanted to help."

In the bedroom, 
Karen enters, 
the door opening 
slowly. "You okay?" 
she asks him, her voice 
soft.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anger. 
"I'm fine," he says, 
his voice clipped. 
He's sitting on 
the edge of the 
bed, his cast 
reflecting the 
dim light. Karen 
sits down beside him, 
her hand resting 
on his back. "You know, 
Hanna means well," 
she says.

Plankton turns to 
face her, his 
eye blazing. "I don't 
care if she does!" 
he cries. "I just 
want her to leave me 
alone!" His antennae 
wave in frustration,
visibly upset.

Karen sighs. "You 
know she's only 
trying to help," she 
says gently. "But 
I understand you're 
feeling overwhelmed.
It's hard to accept 
help, especially when 
you're used to 
being so independent."

Plankton looks 
away, his antennae 
still trembling. "I 
don't need her-"
Karen cuts him 
off. "Would you
like me to get
your meds?"
Plankton nods 
stiffly. "Yeah," he
mutters. Karen
stands, her eyes 
filled with 
understanding. "I'll 
be right back."

The door clicks 
closed behind 
her, leaving 
Plankton alone with 
his thoughts. He 
rubbed his cast.
Meanwhile, Hanna 
notices Karen 
opening the 
cabinet with 
the medical 
supplies.

Her curiosity 
piqued, she can't 
help but peek 
over, watching 
as Karen carefully 
selects a bottle. "What's 
that?" she asks 
softly. Karen looks 
up, a small 
smile playing on 
her lips. "It's for 
Plankton's pain," 
she says, holding 
up the bottle.
"It's a prescription 
painkiller," Karen 
explains. "It can 
help him manage 
his leg pain, but 
it makes him a bit 
drowsy."

Hanna nods, 
taking in the 
information. "Can 
I do anything?" 
she asks, her 
voice hopeful. Karen 
thinks for a moment.
"You can get water
for him."
Hanna nods as 
she fills a glass.

In the bedroom, 
Karen returns with 
the medication and 
Hanna with the water.
They find Plankton 
still sitting on the 
edge of the bed.
"Here you go," 
Karen says, 
handing him 
the pills as Hanna
watches with a
tentative smile, handing
Karen the water.

Plankton takes the 
medication, his 
expression tight. 
He downs it with 
the water, his 
throat working. "Thanks," 
he says gruffly to
Karen.

Hanna notices his
wheelchair that's
been parked
next to the bed before
looking at Plankton
again, trying to smile
at him. "You don't
have to stare," he says,
his voice low and
dangerous. "I-I-I-I…" Hanna
protests, her eyes 
quickly darting around, but
unable to avert her gaze.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in annoyance. 
"What do you 
want?" he snaps. 
"I just-I just 
thought you might 
need some company," 
Hanna stammers, 
her hands fidgeting 
nervously. "I don't need 
anything," he says, 
his voice cold. "Especially 
not from you." Hanna's 
smile falters, and 
she takes a step 
back. "I-I just want to 
be here for you," 
she says, her voice 
shaking. Plankton 
scowls.

He can feel his 
temper rising, his 
tiny fists clenching. 
"What part of 
'leave me alone' 
don't you understand?" 
he spits. "I don't 
need your pity."
Hanna's eyes 
widen, and she 
swallows hard. "It's 
not pity," she says 
quickly. "I just...I 
care about you.
And I underst--"

But Plankton isn't 
listening. "You don't 
understand anything," 
he says, his voice 
getting louder. "You're 
just a know-it-all!"
Plankton turns 
away, his antennae 
quivering. "I don't 
want you here," he says 
firmly. "Just go."
Hanna falters. "But
please, Plankto-"

He swings back 
around, his 
eye blazing. "I don't 
want your friendship," 
he says harshly. "Not 
now, not ever. Do 
you hear me? We're 
not friends, and 
we never will be." Hanna's 
face falls, and she 
takes a step back. 
Tears spill down her 
cheeks. "I'm sorry," she 
whispers. "I didn't 
mean to—"

"Just go!" 
Plankton yells, 
his antennae 
waving erratically. 
"Get OU-"

But Karen 
interrupts him 
sharply, standing 
between them. 
"That's enough," 
she says firmly. 
Her voice is 
calm, but the 
authority is clear.

Hanna's eyes 
are wide with 
shock and pain, 
and Plankton 
looks at her 
before turning 
his gaze to 
Karen, his eye
now welling up
with tears.

Karen sighs, 
picking up 
his hand. "I
think we all 
just need some
time," she says, 
squeezing it gently.
Plankton nods, 
his antennae 
still quivering. "Why 
can't she just 
understand?" he 
whimpers. Karen 
sits beside him, 
her expression 
softening. "She's 
trying," she says. 
"We all are."
Hanna, standing 
in the doorway, 
wipes her 
tears away. Karen
turns to her.
"Hanna, can you 
please give us 
a moment?" she 
asks. Hanna 
nods, her eyes 
red but her 
face composed.
She backs away, 
closing the 
door quietly.
Karen turns to 
Plankton, her 
face filled with 
compassion. "You're 
going through a 
lot right now," she 
says gently. "And 
it's okay." He sniffles, 
his antennae drooping.

The medication 
starts to kick in, 
his eyelid 
drooping slightly. 
"But I don't feel 
brave," he says. 
"You are," she 
insists. "Now, try 
and get some 
rest. It's getting late."
With a nod, 
Plankton lies 
back, his cast 
sticking out awkwardly. 
Karen adjusts the 
pillows around 
his leg, her 
hands gentle.

Outside the 
bedroom, she 
finds Hanna 
sitting on the 
couch, her face 
a mask of hurt.
"Hanna," Karen 
begins gently, 
sitting beside 
her. "I know 
you're trying 
to help, but 
Plankton's just 
not ready to 
accept it yet."
Hanna nods, 
sniffing. "But I 
just want to 
make things 
better," she 
whispers. Karen 
smiles, squeezing 
her hand. "And 
you will," she 
says firmly. "But 
right now, he needs 
his space. It's not 
about you," she 
reassures Hanna. "It's 
about his fear of 
being vulnerable." 
Hanna nods. 
"I get it," she 
says, though 
her voice is 
still shaky. "But 
what can I do without 
smothering him?" Karen 
thinks for a 
moment. "Why don't 
we all get a good
night sleep?"

new kneesurgery hannacore 15

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 22


Hanna emerged 
from the guest 
room, her eyes 
red from crying. 
She saw Plankton 
asleep on the couch 
and felt a 
pang of sadness.
Her steps were 
quiet as she approached, 
not wanting to 
disturb him. Carefully, 
she reached over 
and adjusted the 
pillow under 
his cast, trying 
to make him as 
comfortable as 
possible without 
waking him. His 
snores grew quieter, 
his body 
sinking into 
the cushions.
"Let him rest," 
Karen whispered
as she smiled at
Hanna's gesture.

When Plankton next
wakes up from his nap
he got his crutches and
maneuvered himself
down the hall. He heard
some laughter from the
guest room, and decided
to eavesdrop, his antennae
twitching as he listened.
"He's so stubborn,"
Karen chuckled. "But
that's one of the many
things I love about
him." Hanna giggled. "You
have to admit, though,
his post-surgery ramblings
were pretty entertaining."
Plankton felt his cheeks
burn with embarrassment,
his ego bruised. He had
forgotten about the
possible loopy
influence of the anesthesia.
He listened closer, peering
through the slightly open door.

"He thought the lamp was a
jellyfish! I've never seen him
so out of it," Karen
says. Plankton's
eye narrowed then
Hanna spoke again.

"And the way he talked
about his 'leg stand' like
it was a lost artifact!"
Hanna laughs, her voice
light and carefree. "But
the car ride home... I can't
believe he said 'Hanna you
look okay today but don't
tell my wife Karen' I just..."

Plankton's face burns with
embarrassment as he
hears them recount his
delirious moments. He
shifts his weight on his
crutches, trying to decide
whether to confront them
or retreat back to the
living room. He didn't
recall any of it.

"And the snoring!" Hanna
mimics his snores, her
voice nasally and loud,
causing Karen to burst into
laughter. "Oh I'm not tired!"
She mimics as she once
again makes snorish sounds
and snorts as Karen tried
not to laugh. "And with his 
mouth all... open; never seen
anything so pathetic.." Hanna
says, when Plankton
backed up with his crutches
his one eye glistening with
unshed tears with a squeaky
inhale, alerting both of them.

They both froze, Hanna's hand
covering her mouth. Plankton
stood there for a moment,
his face red and his
heart racing before simply
shaking his head. Without a
word, he went into his own
room, slamming the door.

The silence that fell was
deafening, and Karen's laughter
quickly turned into a
worried frown. She hurried
after him, her eyes darting
to their bedroom door, where
Plankton had slammed it.
"Plankton, wait," she called
out, her voice gentle but firm.
She knew he was upset,
but she had to talk to him.

Hanna's laughter faded
away, her eyes wide with shock.
"I-I didn't mean to upset
him," she stuttered,
her voice filled with
remorse. "It was just our
joke, I didn't think..."

Karen placed a
reassuring hand on
Hanna's shoulder.
"It's okay, Hanna. He's
just sensitive right now.
Let me talk to him."
With a nod, Hanna
stepped aside, allowing
Karen to pass. Karen
knocked gently on the
closed door, her heart
beating fast. "Plankton,
can we talk?" she called,
her tone soothing.

The room remained
silent for a few moments,
then the door slowly
creeaked open. Plankton
was sitting on the edge
of their bed, his crutches
propped against the
nightstand. His eye was
red and puffy, and he
looked up at her with a
mixture of embarrassment
and anger. "I'm sorry," Karen 
began, sitting down 
next to him. "I know 
you're upset."

"How could you let her 
laugh at me?" Plankton 
snapped, his voice 
shaking. "After everything 
I've been through?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
trying to stay calm. 
"It's not like that, 
sweetie," she 
soothed, placing a 
hand on his 
shoulder. "We weren't 
laughing at you, we 
were laughing with 
each other about the 
silly things you 
said when you were 
out of it." "Karen, that's
laughing at me!"
Plankton's voice 
was tight with 
pain, and not just 
from his leg. The 
thought that they had 
been mocking him 
was too much. He had 
always been the 
butt of everyone's 
joke, and now, when 
he was at his most 
vulnerable, it felt 
like his own wife 
and friends were 
joining in. Karen 
sighed, moving closer 
to him. "Plankton,
you know we'd never 
do that. We care about 
you to much. We were 
just trying to find 
some humor in a 
difficult situation."

He looked away, 
his antennae drooping. 
"I know, I know," 
he murmured. "It's just 
that... I don't like 
being seen as 
weak." Karen nodded, 
understanding. "I get 
that. But you're not 
weak for needing help. 
You're strong for 
admitting when you 
do. And we're here 
for you, no matter 
what." She leaned 
over and kissed 
his cheek. "You're 
still the same Plankton 
to us." Hanna hovered 
outside the doorway, 
listening intently. 
Her heart felt heavy 
with regret. She 
hadn't meant to 
hurt his feelings. 
It had been a 
misstep, a poor attempt 
to find lightness in 
the heavy situation. Taking a 
deep breath, she 
pushed the door 
open a crack. 
"Plankton," she called 
softly. "Ca--"

"I don't want to 
talk to you right now," 
Plankton said, his 
voice tight. Hanna's 
face fell, the rejection 
stinging. "I'm sorry," 
she said quietly. "I 
really didn't mean to 
upset you. I was just 
trying to make li—"
"You're always 
trying," Plankton 
snapped, cutting 
her off. "I can't even 
stand up without 
these crutches," he said, 
tearing up. "And you're 
in there, laughing 
about it?!"

"Plankton, please," 
Hanna pleaded, her 
eyes brimming with 
tears. "We weren't 
laughing at you. We 
were just... trying to 
make the best of a 
bad situation. You know 
that." But Plankton was 
too hurt to hear 
reason. His pride 
was bruised, and the 
idea that his vulnerability 
was a source of 
amusement for others 
was unbearable. "I 
don't want you here," 
he said, his voice 
shaking. "I can't stand 
the sight of you."

Hanna's heart 
shattered at his 
words. She had only 
wanted to help, to 
make him feel better, 
but instead, she had 
managed to wound him 
deeper. She took a 
step back, her 
cheeks flushing with 
shame. "I'm sor—"

But Plankton 
interrupted again. 
"I said I don't 
want to talk," 
he said through 
gritted teeth. "Just... 
just leave me alone."
With that, he 
swung his legs 
off the bed, 
grabbing his crutches.
The pain shot through 
his leg like a 
lightning bolt, 
but he ignored it, 
determined to stand.

Hanna took 
another step 
back, her eyes 
glassy with 
unshed tears. 
Karen squeezed her 
hand, giving her 
a comforting look. 
"Give him some 
space, Hanna," 
she whispered. "He'll 
calm down." Hanna 
nodded, her 
throat tight with 
unspoken apologies.

As Plankton 
stood, Karen 
quickly helped 
adjust his 
crutches, her 
expression a mix 
of concern 
and pity. "Let's go 
to the living room," 
she suggested, 
guiding him 
carefully. Plankton 
hobbled along.

Once they were 
settled again, 
the tension 
in the room 
was palpable. 
Hanna hovered 
in the doorway, 
uncertain of 
how to 
apologize or 
make things right. 
Her eyes 
met Plankton's, 
his normally 
sharp gaze clouded 
by pain and 
hurt. "I'm sorry," 
she managed to 
choke out, her voice 
barely above a 
whisper. He didn't 
acknowledge her. 
Instead, he turned 
his attention 
to Karen as they
sat on the couch.

"What's the 
plan for today?" 
he asked, his voice 
still gruff but 
trying to sound 
normal. Karen 
looked at him 
for a moment, 
weighing her 
words before 
answering. "Well, 
you need to stay 
off that leg as 
much as possible. 
So maybe just
some rest, and 
I'll get you set 
up with a nice 
little area 
right here."

Hanna stood 
silently in the 
corner, her 
arms folded 
across her chest. 
Plankton's words 
from earlier still 
stung, and she 
was unsure if she 
should offer to help 
or give him the 
space he had 
demanded. She 
noticed the way 
his antennae 
twitched every time 
he shifted his weight 
on the crutches, 
the pain clearly 
visible on his face. 

new kneesurgery hannacore 22

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.

new plush one hannacore xvii

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.

new shelf improvement neurodisability viii

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 11


The next morning, 
Plankton wakes up to 
see Karen still sleeping.
The cast on his leg 
feels heavier than ever, 
a stark reminder of 
his current state. He 
shifts slightly, and 
the plaster shifts with 
his movement, a dull 
throb pulsing through 
his body. He sighs, 
his antennae drooping.
As he looks around 
the room, his gaze 
lands on the crutches
by the bedside.

With a grunt of 
effort, he pulls 
them closer and 
hoists himself 
upright, his arms 
shaking slightly 
from the weight. 
He glances at the 
wheelchair in the 
corner, but uses 
his crutches 
instead.

With a clank, 
he attaches the 
crutches to his 
arms and swings 
his cast-covered leg 
out of the bed. The 
pain is a dull 
reminder of his 
injury, but he refuses 
to let it win.
He hobbles 
to the window.

Through the 
glass, Plankton sees 
Squidward walking by, 
his tentacles wrapped 
around a morning 
newspaper. His heart 
sinks. "Ugh," he 
mumbles to himself. 
Squidward, the neighbor 
SpongeBob loves to annoy.
Squidward, who's 
always complaining about 
his quiet, orderly world 
being disrupted by 
Sponge Bob's boundless 
energy. Plankton 
sighs.

He watches Squidward's 
silhouette pass 
by, his antennae 
twitching. 
Why can't Squidward 
just appreciate the 
simplicity of life, he 
thinks. But even as 
the thought passes 
his mind, Plankton knows 
deep down, he's not 
so different. Both of 
them crave success, 
both of them have 
their quirks, their 
obsessions.
He hobbles 
back to the 
bed, when Karen
awakes to her
phone lighting up.

"It's Hanna," she 
says, her eyes 
still sleepy. "Her
home needs repair
and she's on her way.
I don't think you've
met.."

Plankton's heart 
sinks. "What?" he 
asks, his voice 
rasped with irritation.
"You didn't tell me
anyone was coming."

Karen sits up, 
apologetic. "I didn't know, 
sorry," she says. "It's 
just Hanna. She 
needs a place to stay."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with annoyance. 
"Now?" he asks, 
his voice tight. "I can't 
even wa-"

Karen cuts him off 
with a firm look. "Plankton, 
she's my friend," she 
says, her voice calm 
but firm. "And she needs 
our help." Plankton 
sighs, his antennae 
dropping. He knows 
he can't win this one.

The doorbell rings, 
interrupting their 
exchange. Karen 
hops out of bed.
Plankton sighs heavily.

Hanna enters inside. "Karen!
Thanks for letting me in."
Karen smiles. "Of course,
Hanna. You're welcome any
time." She hugs her as
Plankton emerges with his
crutches.

Hanna's eyes widen at 
the sight of Plankton, 
his cast a stark contrast 
to the vibrant decor. 
"Oh, who's this?" she 
asks, her voice 
sweet. Plankton scowls.

"This is Plankton," 
Karen says, her voice 
cheerful. "My husband," 
she adds, her smile 
bright. Hanna's eyes 
widen further. "Oh! 
Hi there," she says, 
extending a hand.

Plankton looks at it 
skeptically before shaking 
it with a grunt. "Hi," 
he says, his voice 
less than enthusiastic.
Hanna's smile doesn't 
waver. "How are y-you 
feeling?" she asks, 
trying not to glance 
at the cast.

"Just fine," 
Plankton responds. 
He adjusts his grip 
on the crutches. 
Karen sighs. "Hanna, this 
is my husband, 
Plankton," she repeats, 
forcing a smile.
"And Plankton, this 
is Hanna," she says, 
trying to keep the 
peace.

Hanna's smile 
doesn't falter. "It's 
s-so nice to finally meet 
you," she says, her eyes 
averting the cast. Plankton 
can feel her curiosity, 
but he refuses to 
explain his predicament.

"Likewise," he 
mutters, his tone 
dry. Karen's eyes 
dance with a mix of 
amusement and 
concern. She knows 
his pride is wounded, 
but Karen also knows 
how much he loves herself
and will tolerate for her own
sake, even though he's not
to excited with Hanna.

Hanna's gaze 
flits from Karen 
to Plankton, her 
face a canvas of 
uncertainty. "I'm
glad to stay here
with you and sorry
for the short notice," 
she says, her voice 
slightly too cheerful.

Plankton nods, 
his antennae barely 
moving. "Where's 
your stuff?"
Hanna gestures 
to the suitcase 
behind her. "Just 
this," she says, her 
smile still in place.
"So uh, where do 
I put it?" Karen points 
to the couch. "You 
can leave it there for 
now," she says. "We'll 
find you a place 
to stay."

Hanna's eyes 
light up. "Thank 
you," she says, her 
voice filled with 
gratitude. Plankton 
shifts his weight 
on his crutches, 
his expression 
still unreadable.

"So, Plankton," 
Hanna says, her 
voice bright. "What 
kind of things do 
you like to do around 
h-here?" Plankton 
glances at her, 
his antennae twitching. 
"Not much," he says, 
his voice tight.
Karen gives him 
a knowing look. "Plankton 
can be a bit of a 
homebody," she says, 
her voice gentle.

Hanna nods, her 
eyes still wide 
with curiosity. 
"Oh, I see," she 
says. "Well, I'm 
s-sure we'll find 
something fun 
to do together-er.."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver. Karen 
shoots him a look. 
Plankton sighs,  
begrudging.

Hanna looks 
between them, 
her smile still 
in place. "Well, I-I'm 
sure we'll g-get along," 
she says. Plankton 
rolls his eye, his 
discomfort palpable.

Karen clears 
her throat, trying 
to ease the 
tension. "Why don't we 
all sit down?"
she suggests, her 
voice bright.

Hanna nods eagerly, 
her eyes still on 
Plankton. He 
reluctantly follows, 
his crutches tapping 
against the floor. 
They settle into the 
living room, Plankton 
carefully placing 
his casted leg 
on the coffee table.

The silence 
hangs heavy for a 
moment before 
Hanna jumps in. "So, 
w-what’s your favorite 
hobby, P-Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a mix of 
eagerness and nerves.
Plankton looks at 
her, his eye 
narrowing. "My favorite 
hobby?" he repeats.
"Yes," she says, 
awkwardly. "What do 
you like to do i-in 
your free t-time?"

Plankton's antennae 
wobble slightly. "Things," 
Plankton says, his voice 
clipped. "Just...things."

Hanna nods, her smile 
still in place despite 
his curtness. "Oh," she 
says. "Well, I lo-ove to 
read a-and cook. Do 
you like t-to read?"

Plankton's antennae 
still, his eye blinking, his 
tone flat. "I guess so," he 
says.

Hanna's smile falters 
for a split second before 
she recovers. "Great," 
she says, her voice 
cheery. "Maybe w-we 
c-can swap book 
recommendations later.."
Hanna's eyes dart to 
his cast quickly before 
snapping back up to 
his face. Plankton 
notices the glance, his 
expression unreadable.
Karen watches the 
interaction with a 
mixture of amusement 
and concern. She 
knows Hanna's intentions 
are pure, but Plankton's 
pride is not easily 
soothed.

Hanna jumps to her 
feet. "Would you 
like to talk about
anything specific?" she 
asks, her voice 
perky.

Plankton considers 
for a moment before 
shaking his head. "No, 
just...things," he says, 
his voice trailing off.
Hanna nods, her 
cheerfulness unflagging. 
"Well, I've been 
reading this amazing 
book on jellyfish 
migration patterns," she 
says, her eyes 
sparkling. "Did you know 
that jellyfish can 
travel for thousands of 
miles?"

Karen watches as 
Plankton's eye twitches. 
"That's...fascinating," 
he says, his tone 
devoid of enthusiasm. 
Hanna doesn't 
seem to notice, her 
excitement bubbling over. 
"It really is," she says. 
"They're such 
wonderful creatures.
Have you gone jellyfishing?"
Plankton's antennae 
quiver. He shakes his 
head. "Can't say 
I really have," he says, 
his voice flat.

Hanna nods, her 
smile never wavering. 
"It's something you 
have to try," she says. 
"Unless your le- I mean,
unless you'd rather not?"
Hanna blushes, trying to
force a chuckle. Plankton
shifts his weight 
on the crutches, 
his patience wearing 
thin. Karen sighs 
silently, watching 
the awkward exchange.

new kneesurgery hannacore 11

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ii
(By NeuroFabulous)


"What causes this, Mom?"
Chip asked, his voice quieter
now, more contemplative.

Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm. "Sometimes,
sweetie, when people have brains that
work differently, like Daddy does,
they can get overwhelmed." She spoke
slowly, choosing her words with care.
"It's a type of 'neurodisability' he has."

Chip's still confused. "But why
didn't you tell me before?"
his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's hand stilled on
Plankton's arm as she took
a moment to gather her
thoughts. "Well, Chip, sometimes
parents want to protect their
kids from things they think
might be too much for them to
understand. But now that you're
a little older, it's important
you know about your dad's... 
condition."

Chip looked at her with wide
eyes, processing this new
information. "Is it because
of his inventions? Does he
think too much?"

Karen's gaze remained
on Plankton, her thumb
still making circles on
his skin. "No, honey, it's not
because of his inventions. It's
just his disability. Some
people's brains work differently,
and that's okay."

Chip's eyes darted
back to his father, who
was still as a statue. "But
what does it feel like?"

Karen took a deep
breath. "It's hard to say,
because everyone's experience
is unique. For Daddy,
it might be like being in a
really quiet room where everything
is far away and muffled."

Chip nodded slowly, his
gaze still on Plankton. "So,
it's like he's not here, but he
kind of is?"

Karen nodded, her screen
never leaving her son's.
"In a way, yes. It's like
his brain has gone 
until it's ready to 
come back and get
unstuck."

Chip's screen searched
his mother's screen for
any sign of fear or
sadness, but she was
calm, a rock in the storm
of his confusion. "How
long will he be like this?"

Karen's gaze never
left Plankton's still form.
"It could be a few
minutes or hours. We
just have to wait it out."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
still burning. "Does he
know we're here?"

Karen offered a 
small, sad smile. "I
think he can feel 
us, but he's
not really with us 
right now."

Chip nodded, his 
hands fidgeting with
the hem of his camp
t-shirt. "But how do we
know when he's... not 
stuck anymore?"

Karen looked up at him,
her screen filled with a gentle
wisdom. "You'll know, Chip.
He'll blink, or twitch, or maybe
even say something. It's like
he's in a deep sleep, and we
have to let him wake up on his
own."

Chip sat cross-legged on
the floor next to the bed, his
hands folded in his lap. He had
so many questions, so much
he wanted to share with his
dad. "Does he remember
stuff when he's like this?"
he whispered.

Karen's eyes remained on
Plankton, her voice low and
soothing. "It's complicated,
Chip. Sometimes he does,
sometimes he doesn't. But
it's like his brain is playing
backup right now."

Chip nodded, his
thoughts racing. "But how do we
help him?" he asked, his voice
tinged with urgency.

Karen turned to her son.
"We just have to be patient,
Chip. And keep the room calm."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
now muted by the gravity
of the situation. He watched
his mother closely, studying her
calm demeanor, the way her hand
continued to move in gentle strokes
on Plankton's arm. He wanted
to be like her and help.

"What can I do to make him
feel better?" he asked,
his voice quieter than
his racing thoughts.

Karen's eyes flicked to
his, a gentle smile
playing on her screen. "You're
already doing it, Chip.
Just being here, keeping
the room calm, is helping."

But Chip's mind was still
whirring with unanswered
questions. "But what causes
this?" he pressed.

Karen sighed, her gaze
still focused on Plankton.
"It's a disorder, sweetie. It's a
neurological condition that
makes his brain process things
a bit differently. Sometimes, when
his senses get overwhelmed,
his body does this to protect
him."

Chip's brows furrowed.
"But why didn't he tell..."

"Because," Karen interrupted,
"it's hard for some people to
explain things like this, even to those
they love most. Your dad's been dealing
with this and it's not
always easy to talk about."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
still not fully satisfied. "How will
he feel whenever he wakes up?"

Karen took a deep breath.
"It can vary, Chip. Sometimes
he's groggy, like waking up from
a deep sleep. Other times,
he's just tired, but he'll be okay.
He might need some space, some
quiet, and maybe a little time alone."

Chip nods.
"Mom, ca--"

Plankton's antenna twitches
suddenly. Karen's puts her
hand up to silence Chip.
"Shh," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's eye
begins to focus, the vacant
stare shifting as he blinks,
his pupil slowly coming into
focus, as if surfacing from
a deep sleep. He looks up at
Karen, not recalling her
coming in here.
"Wh...what's going on?" he
stammers, his voice rough
from disuse.

Karen's hand tightens
on his arm, her voice a
whisper. "You had a 
shutdown, sweetie."

He figured that. He
remembers Chip
bombarding him before
going dizzy/lightheaded
as Chip kept prodding him,
his son's gaze unwavering.
Plankton's antennae droop
slightly, his body
still sluggish from the
shutdown.

new chip on the shoulders neurodisability ii

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 12


Karen knows 
he's trying to be 
polite, but it's clear 
his tolerance is waning.
This isn't how she 
wanted Hanna to 
meet Plankton. She'd 
hoped for a more 
harmonious introduction, 
but with his current 
mood and the cast 
looming over the room, 
it's clear that's not 
going to happen.

"So, Hanna," 
she says, her 
voice cutting through 
the tension. "Why don't 
we get you settled 
in?" Hanna's smile 
doesn't falter. "Okay," 
she says, her eyes 
sliding to Plankton's 
cast again before 
quickly looking away.

Karen leads Hanna 
to the guest room, 
leaving Plankton 
alone with his 
thoughts. He stares 
at the wall, his 
antennas drooping.
Karen knows Plankton isn't one 
for strangers, and his 
current condition 
has made him even more 
prickly.

In the guest room, 
Hanna sets down 
her suitcase, 
her smile fading 
slightly as Karen 
closes the door. 
"I'm so sorry," 
Hanna says, her eyes 
filled with 
apology. "I didn't kno—"

Karen waves her 
apology away. "It's 
okay," she says, 
her voice warm. "He's 
just a bit...sensitive 
right now."
Hanna nods. 
"Can I ask
you something, Karen?" 
Her voice is 
soft, tentative. 
"How did he...? Like
why's he in a ca--"

Karen cuts her off with 
a gentle smile. 
"It's a long story," 
she says. "But basically, 
he had an accident. It's 
just going to take 
some time." She looks 
at Hanna, her eyes 
filled with warmth. 
"And a little patience."

Hanna nods, 
understanding. "I 
see," she says. "I'm 
sorry, I didn't mean to 
make him uncomfortable."

Karen gives her a 
reassuring pat on 
the shoulder. "You 
didn't," she says. "He's 
just a bit...sensitive 
about it." Hanna nods, 
looking down at 
the floor.

"But why does 
he have to wear 
that cast?" 
she asks, her voice 
hushed. Karen sighs. 
"It just helps 
his leg heal after 
surgery..."
"He had surgery?"
Hanna asks.
"Yes," Karen 
explains patiently. 
"He had a pretty 
bad break, so the 
doctors had to 
do some fixing."

Hanna's eyes 
widen with 
sympathy. "Oh no!" 
she exclaims. "Was 
it...painful
for him during 
the surgery? Did
he feel pain..."

Karen's smile 
softens. "He's okay
now," she assures 
her friend. "They 
gave him something 
so he didn't feel 
anything. They put him 
to sleep so he wouldn't 
feel anything."
Hanna's eyes 
widen. "Oh, like a 
nap?" she asks, 
her voice high with 
curiosity. Karen 
nods. "Sort of, but 
not really. It's just a 
way to keep him 
comfortable during 
the surgery. It's a bit more 
complex than that," 
she says. "But yes,
it's like a deep sleep."

Hanna nods, 
her curiosity 
far from sated. "So, 
how did he break it?" 
she asks. Karen's 
eyes dart to the 
door, checking 
that Plankton isn't 
listening. "It was a 
little accident," she 
says, her voice 
low. "A...mishap.
He tripped and hit a rock."

Hanna's eyes 
widen. "Oh, no!" 
she says, her voice 
filled with concern. 
"Was it bad?" 
Karen nods. "It was 
pretty serious," 
she admits. "But he's 
going to be okay. The 
cast will keep his 
leg stable while it heals.
He'll be in it for about
a month."

Hanna looks 
thoughtful. "A month," 
she repeats. "That's 
a long time." 
Karen nods. "It is, 
but he's strong. 
He'll get through it.
Why don't we go back
to the living room?"

Hanna nods, her 
expression serious. 
They walk back to 
find Plankton sitting 
on the couch, his 
leg propped up on 
a pillow. He looks 
up as they enter, his 
expression unreadable.
"So, what's the plan 
for the day?" Hanna asks, 
trying to lighten 
the mood as they 
re-enter the living 
room.

Karen glances at 
Plankton, who 
simply shrugs his 
shoulders. "Well, 
we usually keep 
it pretty low-key 
around here," she says, 
forcing a smile.

Hanna's eyes light up. 
"Oh, I don't mind," 
she says. "I'm happy 
just to help out."
Plankton's antennae 
twitch. "Help out?" 
he asks, his voice 
sharp. Karen sighs. 
"Plankton, Hanna's 
going to stay with 
us for a bit," she 
says gently. "And we 
could use the extra 
hand."

Hanna's smile 
doesn't waver. "It's 
no trouble," she says. 
"I'm happy to help 
with anything." Plankton 
looks at her, his 
expression skeptical.

"Is that so?" he 
says, his voice 
cautious. Karen nods. 
"We could use the 
help," she repeats. 
"But what if I don't 
want to do anything?" 
Plankton asks, his 
tone challenging.

Hanna's smile 
remains unbroken. 
"Then I'll just keep 
you company," she says. 
Her eyes flicker 
to the cast again, 
and Plankton feels 
his antennae stiffen.

"Great," he says 
sarcastically. "A babysitter."
Hanna's smile falters 
slightly. "I'm not a 
babysitter," she says, 
some defensiveness 
creeping into her voice. 
"I just want to help."

Plankton sighs, 
his antennae drooping. 
"Fine," he says. "But I 
can take care of myself."

Hanna nods, her 
cheerfulness bubbling 
back up. "Of course, 
Plankton," she says. 
"But it's always 
nice to have 
someone to ta-"

Her words are 
interrupted by 
Plankton's groan. 
"Look, I appreciate 
the offer," he says, 
cutting her off. 
"But I don't need a 
babysitter." His eye 
narrows. "Underst--"

"I know you don't need 
one," Hanna says quickly, 
her voice earnest. 
"But it's nice to have 
company, right?"

Karen nods, her smile 
slightly strained. "Exactly," 
she says. "And Hanna's 
good company."
"I suppose," he says 
begrudgingly. Hanna's 
smile brightens. "Great!"
she says, her voice 
chirpy. "What should 
we do first?"

Plankton sighs. 
"I don't know," he says. 
"How about a game?"
Hanna suggests.

Karen nods. 
"That sounds 
fun," she says, 
trying to keep the 
peace. "Why don't 
we play something 
easy?"

Plankton grunts 
his assent, his 
eye scanning the 
shelves for a game. 
He settles on a 
card game.
"This one," he says.

Hanna claps her 
hands together. "Perfect!" 
she says, her 
excitement contagious. 
Karen brings over 
the card game, setting 
it up on the coffee 
table. Plankton's 
leg sticks out, the cast 
a stark reminder of his 
current limitations.

Karen smiles. "Let's
move to the floor
to sit on," she says.
With a grumble, 
Plankton shifts to 
the floor, his cast 
scraping against 
the rug. Hanna 
and Karen follow, 
sitting cross-legged.

Hanna picks up 
the cards, her 
fingers deftly shuffling 
them. "What's the 
game?" she asks, her 
eyes sparkling with 
eagerness. Plankton 
rolls his eye. "It's 
War," he says. "You know, 
the one where you 
just slap down 
the card with 
the highest number?"
Hanna nods, 
understanding. "Oh, 
I love that one!" she 
says. Karen gives 
Plankton a look, 
silently willing him 
to be nicer. He 
sighs, his antennae 
drooping slightly.
"Fine," he says. "Let's 
start." 

new kneesurgery hannacore 12

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 14


Hanna wipes her 
eyes, her voice 
shaky. "I-I think I 
should go," she says. 
Karen stands up, 
rushing over to her. "No,
wait. What happened?" 
she asks, her 
concern evident.

Hanna sniffs, 
trying to compose 
herself. "He just...
he doesn't want me 
here," she manages. 
Karen's face falls. "I'm 
sorry," she says, 
taking Hanna's hand. 
"He's just in a lot 
of pain. I know he can be 
difficult," she says 
gently. "But he's 
just scared and 
frustrated."

Hanna nods, her 
lips pressed into 
a thin line. "I know," 
she says. "But I can't 
help if he won't 
let me in." Karen 
sighs, squeezing her 
hand. "Give him some 
time," she advises. "You
are staying with us, and
we all outta try getting
along. I'll go and
check on him."

With a nod, 
Hanna releases 
Karen's hand and 
sits back down, her 
thoughts racing. She 
wonders if she's 
overstepped or if 
Plankton will ever
accept her help. The 
silence in the room 
stretches out, filled 
only with the 
ticking of a 
clock on the 
wall.

Meanwhile, Karen goes 
to their bedroom door.
"Plankton?" she calls
out softly. "Can I come
in?" There's no answer 
at first, just the 
sound of his ragged
breathing. She opens
the door slowly, 
finding him sitting 
on the bed.

His antennae are 
drooped and his eye 
is red-rimmed. "What?" 
he says, his voice 
harsher than he 
intended. Karen 
sighs, sitting down 
beside him. "Hanna's 
upset," she says 
simply. Plankton looks 
away, his antennae 
twitching.

"Good," he says, his 
tone still icy. "I don't 
want her here."

Karen sighs. "You
know she's only trying 
to help," she says. 
"And she's not the 
only one. We all are."

Plankton's antennae 
drop further. "I don't 
want any of this," 
he says, his voice 
smaller. "I don't want 
to be the one who 
needs help."

Karen sighs, 
placing a hand 
on his arm. 
"But you do," she 
says gently. "And that's 
not a bad thing. How's
the leg feeling?"
Plankton glowers 
but doesn't pull away. 
"It hurts," he 
admits. Karen nods. 
"I'll get your meds," 
she says.

When she returns, 
she finds Plankton 
still sitting there, 
his gaze fixed on 
his cast. "Here," she 
says, handing him the 
pill bottle. He takes 
them without a word, 
swallowing them 
quickly. Karen sits 
back down next to 
him. "You know, 
sometimes letting 
people in can make 
the hard times 
easier," she says. "Yet
it's also fine if you'd
like space." She kisses
his forehead. "Now, rest.."

Plankton's antennae 
lift slightly. "I don't 
want to be alone," he 
admits, his voice 
barely a whisper. 
Karen's eyes widen 
slightly, surprised 
by his vulnerability. 
"You don't have to 
be," she says, taking 
his hand. "We're all 
here for you."

They sit in silence 
for a few moments, 
the tension in the 
room slowly dissipating. 
Then, with a sigh, 
Plankton leans into her, 
his antennae drooping 
against her shoulder. 
"Thank you," he whispers.

Karen wraps an 
arm around him, 
pulling him closer. "You're 
welcome," she murmurs. 
"We're a team."

As they sit 
there, the tension 
in Plankton's body 
gradually eases, his 
breathing slowing down. 
Karen feels his grip 
on her hand loosen, 
his eyelid flicker closed. 
The fight drains 
out of him, and he 
surrenders to sleep.
Karen shifts, so he's 
more comfortable, 
pulling a blanket over 
his cast-covered leg. 
The soft fabric 
slides over the 
plaster, and 
she tucks him in.

When she returns 
to the living 
room, Hanna's eyes 
are still red, but 
she's composed 
herself. "Is he okay?" 
she asks, her voice 
barely above a whisper.
Karen nods, sitting 
beside her. "He's 
asleep," she says. 
"But he's...going through 
a lot." Hanna nods, her 
own eyes welling up 
again. "What 
can I do to help?" 
she asks.

Karen looks at 
her, her gaze 
thoughtful. "Just be 
patient with him," 
she advises. "He's not 
used to being 
dependent on 
others." Hanna 
nods, taking a deep 
breath. "Okay," she says. 
"How do you think 
I can be of 
help?" Karen smiles. 
"Just be there," 
she says. "And maybe 
find something 
that doesn't 
involve...babying him."
Hanna nods 
determinedly.

Later, Plankton wakes
up, emerging out to
the living room where
Karen and Hanna sat,
hobbling as he navigates
with his crutches.

"What are we 
watching?" he asks, 
his tone softer. 
They're on the couch, 
a movie playing 
on the TV, their heads 
close together as 
they whisper about 
the plot. Karen looks
up, her smile 
genuine. "Just a 
little something to 
pass the time," she 
says, patting the 
cushion next to 
Hanna. "You wanna join?"
Plankton hesitates, 
his antennae 
twitching. Then, with 
a sigh, he nods, moving 
towards them.
Hanna looks up 
at him, her smile 
slightly tentative. "It's 
an adventure film," 
she says. "It's got a 
little of everything."

Plankton eases 
himself onto the 
couch, his cast 
thumping against 
the cushions. He 
sits between 
them, his crutches 
propped against 
the side.

Hanna's eyes 
dart to him 
before returning 
quickly to the 
television. 
Karen gives him 
a side hug, her 
hand resting 
comfortably on 
his shoulder. 
"Thanks," he murmurs.

The film plays, 
and they sit in 
relative quiet, 
the occasional 
laugh or gasp 
filling the room.
Hanna glances 
at him every so 
often.

During a 
particularly intense 
scene, she reaches 
for the bowl of 
popcorn. "Want 
some?" she asks 
quietly. Plankton 
nods, extending 
his arm. She carefully 
picks out a few 
kernels, placing 
them in his hand. 
The gesture is 
small, but it feels 
like a peace offering.

He munches 
on them, his gaze 
still on the 
screen, but 
his antennae 
relaxing. Karen 
notices the 
ease in the 
atmosphere and 
smiles to herself. 
Maybe this 
was what they 
needed, she thinks.

As the 
credits roll, 
Hanna jumps 
up, her 
expression hopeful.

"How about we 
play a game?" she 
suggests, her voice 
careful not to 
disrupt the peace. 
Plankton looks 
at her, his 
eye assessing. "What 
kind of game?" he 
asks, his voice 
still guarded.

Hanna stands up. 
"How about something 
easy?" she says. "Like 
charades? It'll keep us 
entertained without 
being too strenuous 
for Plankto-"

"I can still think, 
you know," Plankton 
snaps, his antennae 
waving in irritation. 
Hanna's smile falters, 
but she nods. "Of course," 
she says. "It's just 
that I don't wa-"

"To sit around doing 
nothing," he 
finishes for her. 
"I know, I know. You
just think it's all fun 
and games." Hanna 
swallows her 
retort, nodding. 
"Okay, I get it," she 
says. "How about 
something else? Maybe 
a puzzle?"

Karen interjects, 
sensing the tension. 
"That sounds 
like a great idea," 
she says brightly. 
"Let's all do it 
together on the
floor."

With a grumble, 
Plankton starts to 
stand, using his 
crutches to balance 
his weight. Hanna 
quickly moves to 
his side, offering 
her arm for support. 
He glares at her.
"I can do it 
myself," he snaps.

Karen watches 
them, a smile 
tugging at her lips. 
"It's okay," she says, 
picking up a puzzle 
box from the 
coffee table. "Let's 
just get started."
Plankton lowers himself 
to the floor, setting
the crutches down.

He grimaces, his 
leg muscles 
protesting as he 
shifts his weight 
to his good side. 
Using his arms 
for leverage, he 
crawls over to 
the space they've 
cleared for the 
puzzle.

Hanna watches, 
worry etched on 
her face. "Do you 
want me to help?
Here, le-"

"I've got it," 
Plankton says 
quickly, cutting her 
off. He doesn't 
want to admit 
how much the 
simple act of 
getting to the floor 
has exhausted him.
His pride won't allow it. 
With a grunt, 
he reaches the 
puzzle area and 
flops down, his cast 
scraping against 
the carpet. Karen 
sets the box down, 
her eyes filled with 
concern. "Are you 
sure you're okay?" Hanna 
asks.

"I said I've got it," 
he repeats, 
his voice firm. 
He grabs a puzzle 
piece, his 
small hands 
shaking slightly 
as he tries to 
fit it into place.
Hanna opens her 
mouth to protest, 
but Karen gives her 
a look, silencing 
her. They watch 
as Plankton struggles, 
his face contorted 
with effort. His 
leg feels like a 
dead weight, 
but he refuses to 
show.

new kneesurgery hannacore 14

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 21


The next 
morning, 
Plankton 
stirred, his 
eye opening 
slowly. The 
sunlight 
streamed in 
through the 
living room 
windows, 
highlighting the 
bandage around 
his leg. He 
blinked a few 
times, his 
memory of the 
previous day 
coming back in 
fuzzy fragments. 
He looked down 
at the crutches 
by his side, 
his mind 
piecing together 
the events. "What 
happened?" he 
muttered, his 
voice hoarse.

Karen emerged 
from the kitchen, 
seeing him 
awake. She 
smiled warmly. 
"How's the 
leg today?" she 
asked, approaching 
the couch. 
Hanna, who 
was already 
up, had 
sat down on
the other couch.

Plankton 
looked around, 
his gaze 
landing on 
his crutches. 
"It's... fine," 
he said, his 
voice groggy. He 
tried to sit 
up, but the 
pain shot through 
his leg, 
causing him 
to yelp. 
Hanna jumped 
up, rushing 
over to help 
support him. 
"Oh, be ca---"
"I don't 
need your 
help," he 
snapped, his 
frustration 
boiling over. 
Karen watched 
the exchange 
with a knowing 
look. She knew 
his pride could 
be stubborn.

"What happened?"
he repeated, 
his antennae 
twitching with 
agitation. "Where's 
my... where's 
my...?"
"Your cast," Karen 
finished for 
him. "It's off. 
The doctor 
replaced it with 
a bandage." Plankton 
frowned. "Why don't I 
recall..."
"It's the 
medication," 
Hanna said 
gently, her eyes 
filled with 
concern. "It m-"

"Don't tell me 
what I know," 
Plankton snapped, 
his voice sharp. 
Hanna took 
a step back, 
surprise etched 
on her features. 
"I just... I just 
wanted t---"

"I don't 
need you telling 
me what I know 
about my own 
body," he 
continued, his 
eye narrowing. 
Hanna sighed, 
knowing his 
pride was 
wounded. "Plank-"
"Let's not fight, 
you two," Karen 
interrupted, her 
tone firm but 
kind.

Plankton looked 
away, his 
antennas drooping. 
"I just... I just 
don't remember," 
he mumbled, 
his voice 
smaller. Hanna 
knelt beside 
him, her 
expression 
softening. "You were 
under anesthesia, 
remember?" she 
said gently. "You 
might not remember 
much from the sur—"

"I know what 
happened," Plankton 
snapped, his 
eye flashing with 
something that 
wasn't quite anger, 
but rather 
desperation. "Don't 
baby me, Hanna. Just... 
don't." Hanna's 
mouth dropped open, 
surprised by his 
harshness. "Plankton, 
I-I-I-I…"

He 
cut her off, 
his voice 
getting louder. 
"I don't need 
you to tell me 
what I felt or 
what I said. It's 
my leg, my surgery!" 
Hanna took 
a deep breath, 
trying to stay 
calm. "Okay, okay," 
she said, her 
hands up in 
surrender. "I'm 
just trying to 
he-"

But Plankton 
was already 
getting worked 
up. "Can't you 
just leave me 
alone?" he 
barked, his 
frustration 
mounting. Hanna 
stood her ground, 
her eyes filled 
with a mix 
of surprise 
and sadness. "I'm 
only trying to 
help," Hanna said. 
"You're still 
weak from 
the surgery."

Despite trying to
tell him to take it
easy, the word 'weak'
hit Plankton. Hard. "I 
don't want you here," 
he said coldly, his 
voice eerily calm. 
Hanna's eyes 
widened, hurt 
shimmering in 
them. "Plankton, I'm
not leaving, but w---"

"You heard me," 
he interrupted, 
his tone leaving 
no room for 
discussion. "I don't 
need you." Hanna 
swallowed hard, 
trying to hold 
back tears. "But 
you're still 
recovering," she 
whispered. "I can't 
just leave you."

Plankton's eye 
narrowed. "I said 
I don't want you 
here," he 
repeated, his voice 
like a knife. "You
don't get to decide 
that, Hanna. You've 
already done enough."
"But I--"
"I said I DON'T 
WANT YOU 
HERE! Just get 
out." Hanna 
stood there, 
stunned by 
his words. She 
felt as though she'd 
been slapped in the 
face. Tears 
threatened to spill, 
but she held 
them back, her 
chest tight with 
hurt. Karen stepped 
in, placing a 
hand on her 
shoulder.

"Hanna, maybe 
we should give 
him some space," 
she suggested, her 
voice calm. 
Hanna's eyes 
flitted to Karen's, 
searching for 
understanding.

"He's feeling 
vulnerable," Karen 
explained gently. 
"The surgery, the 
recovery... it's all 
taking a toll on 
his pride. He's 
used to being the 
one who's in 
control, and 
right now, he's 
not. It's hard for 
him to accept 
help." Hanna 
nodded, though 
her eyes were 
still misty. "I just 
want to help," 
she murmured.
Karen's gaze 
softened. "I know 
you do, Hanna. And 
you've been 
wonderful. But 
sometimes, when we 
offer help, it can 
accidentally make 
someone feel weaker."
"I didn't mean 
to do that," Hanna 
said, her voice 
small.

Karen gave 
her a comforting 
squeeze. "I know. 
But think about it 
from his perspective. 
He's always 
been so independent, 
so strong-willed. Now, 
he's stuck in a 
situation where 
he can't do 
everything himself. 
It's a blow to his 
ego."

Hanna nodded 
slowly, understanding 
beginning to dawn 
on her. "But I was
just trying to 
make sure he's okay.
I didn't mean to say he's we-"

"I know you didn't," 
Karen interjected 
quickly. "But to 
Plankton, those words 
might feel like 
you're questioning his 
strength." She paused, 
letting that sink in. 
"He's always 
been the one to 
pull himself up by 
his own bootstraps, 
figuratively speaking," 
she continued. "This 
whole experience 
has been a stark 
reminder that he's not 
as invincible as he'd 
like to believe."
Hanna took 
a deep breath, 
nodding. "I see," 
she said finally.

They watched 
as Plankton 
tried to shift his 
weight on the couch, 
his bandaged leg 
clearly causing 
discomfort. Hanna 
felt a pang of 
guilt for upsetting 
him, albeit unintentionally.

With a heavy 
heart, she turned 
and headed towards 
their guest room, 
giving him the 
space as 
requested. The 
hallway felt 
cooler without his 
snappy retorts and 
quick wit. She knew 
his words were 
driven by pain and 
frustration, but they 
still stung.

Once inside the 
guest room, 
Hanna sat on the 
edge of the bed, 
staring at the 
closed door. The 
silence was 
deafening, her 
thoughts racing. 
She hadn't meant 
to make Plankton 
feel weak, only 
to assist him in 
his time of 
need. It was clear, 
though, that she 
had inadvertently 
stepped on a 
sensitive area, 
one she had 
overlooked due to 
her own eagerness to 
support.

In the living 
room, Karen walked 
over to Plankton, 
his breaths 
still heavy with 
frustration. "You know 
she didn't mean 
anything by it," 
she said softly. 
"She's just worried 
about you."
Plankton's antennae 
twitched. "I know," 
he said gruffly. "But 
I can't have her 
seeing me like this."
Karen sat down 
beside him, 
placing a gentle 
hand on his 
shoulder.
"You're not 
weak, Plankton," 
she assured him. 
"You're just... 
Plankton. And it's 
okay to take it easy."

He sighed, 
his body 
slumping into 
the couch. "I know 
it's just... I don't 
like being 
dependent on 
others."
Karen nodded. 
"I know, baby.
And you'll still
always be the
Plankton I fell in
love with. Your
my charming, 
clever, albeit 
tiny, troublemaker
of a husband, and 
nothing changes that."
He leaned into 
her, his expression 
softening. "Thanks, Karen,"
he murmured. Karen 
kissed his forehead.
"Now, let's get you 
set up with some 
pain meds, okay?"
Plankton nodded, 
his antennae 
drooping slightly. 
Karen returned 
from the kitchen 
with a glass of water 
and a small 
plastic cup holding 
his pills. She 
handed them to him 
carefully, her 
expression a 
mixture of 
concern and love
as he took them.
As the medication 
took effect, the 
pain in his 
leg began to 
ease. Plankton's eye
started to droop, 
his body relaxing 
into the cushions. 
Karen pulled a 
soft blanket over 
him, his snores 
soon filling the 
room.

new kneesurgery hannacore 21

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 23


"I can bring you 
some water, or 
maybe a snack?" 
Hanna ventured 
timidly.

Plankton didn't 
look up from the 
book he had 
open in his 
hand. "I don't 
need anything," 
he muttered. "I've 
got Karen." The 
implication was 
clear: he didn't 
want Hanna's help.

Hanna's heart 
dropped, but she 
swallowed her 
pride. "Okay," she 
said, her voice 
small. "If you c-"

"Actually," 
Karen interrupted, 
"Could you help 
me in the kitchen?"
Her tone was 
carefully neutral, 
but Hanna could 
read the silent 
plea in her eyes. 
She nodded, 
grateful for 
something to do,
and followed 
Karen into the 
kitchen. Once 
they were out of 
earshot, Karen 
turned to face her.

"Look, Hanna, 
Plankton's just 
going through a 
tough time," 
she said gently. 
"His pride is 
on the line here, 
and he's not used 
to being so 
dependent on 
others. Give him 
some time, okay?" 
Hanna nodded, 
wiping at her 
eyes.

"But I just 
want to help," 
she murmured, her 
voice thick with 
unshed tears. 
"I don't know 
what I did wrong."
Karen gave her 
a sad smile. "You 
didn't do anything 
wrong, Hanna. He's 
just... struggling."
Hanna nodded, 
understanding but 
still feeling the 
weight of his words.
"I know," she said. 
"But it hurt-"
Karen interrupted 
with a firm but 
gentle tone. "You can't 
take it personally. 
He's in pain, and 
his pride is bruised. 
What he needs right 
now is time to 
process and heal."

Hanna nodded, 
wiping her eyes. 
"But what can I do?" 
she asked. "How do I 
make it right?"
Karen squeezed 
her hand. "Just 
be there for him," 
she said. "And maybe 
give him some grace. 
Let him come to you."
Hanna nodded, 
wiping her 
cheeks. "Okay," she 
whispered. "I'll try."

They returned to 
the living room, 
where Plankton was with 
his leg propped up. 
He didn't look at 
them. Hanna took 
a seat on the floor 
near the couch, 
picking up a 
magazine to flip 
through. The 
silence was 
stifling, but she 
respected his wish 
for space.

Karen went about 
the room, 
adjusting pillows, 
getting him a 
blanket, and making 
sure his water was 
within reach. She 
glanced at Hanna 
frequently, her 
expressions speaking 
louder than words. 
"Thanks, Karen," 
Plankton murmured 
after a while, 
his voice softer.

Hanna took a 
deep breath, 
forcing a smile. "Is 
there anyth—"
But Plankton 
interrupted 
again, his voice 
sharp. "I don't 
want anything 
from you," he said.

Her heart 
sank, but she 
swallowed her 
hurt. "Okay," she 
whispered. "I'll just 
be here." But Plankton 
read his book, 
his face a mask 
of concentration. 
Hanna pretended 
to be engrossed 
in her magazine, 
but her eyes kept 
straying to him.

The minutes 
ticked by, each 
second feeling like 
an eternity. Karen 
moved around the 
room, her movements 
careful and quiet, 
trying not to 
disturb the 
fragile peace. The 
silence was so 
heavy, it felt like 
it was pressing down 
on all of them, no words 
were exchanged.

Hanna's 
magazine lay 
unread on her 
lap, her thoughts 
whirling. She 
desperately wanted 
to apologize, to 
make it right, 
but she knew 
she had to 
follow Karen's advice. 
Give him space, let 
him be. Plankton 
turned the last page 
of his book in the
tense silence.
With a heavy 
sigh, he set the 
book aside.
His antennae 
twitched.
He looked over 
at Hanna, who 
was staring at 
the floor. "Look, I can't 
have you thinking 
I'm weak."

Hanna nods, her 
voice small. "You're 
not weak. You're 
just... recovering."
Plankton's eye 
softened slightly. 
"I know," he said. 
"But I need you to 
see me as... capable. 
I can't have you 
looking at me with 
pity." "I don't pity 
you," Hanna said 
quickly, meeting his 
gaze. "I just want 
you to be okay."

But Plankton 
wasn't convinced. 
His antennae drooped 
as he leaned back 
into the couch. 
"I know you mean 
well, Hanna," he 
sighed. "But sometimes 
your help feels like 
you think I can't do 
anything for myself."
Hanna felt her 
cheeks flush with 
embarrassment. "That's 
not what I meant," 
she said. "I'm sorry."

Karen looked 
between them, 
silence hanging 
heavy in the air. 
"Maybe we all 
just need to 
talk about it," she 
suggested.
Plankton's antennae 
twitched again, 
but he didn't 
argue. He knew 
his behavior had 
been unkind, but 
his pride was 
still smarting. "Why
do you want to talk 
about it?" he asked 
warily. Hanna took a 
deep breath, 
swiping at a 
stray tear. "Because 
I care about 
you," she said 
simply. "And I don't 
want to do anything 
that makes you feel 
small or weak. I just 
want to do the right
thing for you."
Karen nodded in 
agreement. "We're 
both just trying to 
navigate this new 
situation," she said. 
"And sometimes Hanna 
might mess up." 
Plankton's expression 
softened slightly. 
"I know you're trying," 
he admitted to Hanna.

Plankton sighs. 
"But no more 
laughing about it."
Hanna nodded 
quickly. "I understand," 
she said. "I'll 
be more 
sensitive next time."

Karen sat down 
next to Plankton, 
taking his hand 
in hers. "We 
all need to learn 
to be there for 
each other in 
different ways," 
she said. "We're 
all a little out of 
practice with this."

Plankton nodded, 
his gaze drifting 
back to Hanna. 
He knew she had 
his best interest 
at heart, but it was 
still difficult to 
swallow his pride. "I'll 
try to communicate 
better," he murmured.
Hanna looked up 
at him, her eyes 
shiny with unshed 
tears.

Karen cleared her 
throat gently. "Why don't 
we start with some 
exercises? The doctor
said you can start anytime." 
she suggested, 
breaking the 
tense silence. Plankton's 
eye widened slightly, 
but he didn't protest. 
Hanna looked 
relieved, eager 
to help in a way 
that was truly 
beneficial.

The three of 
them moved to the 
living room floor.

"Let's start with 
some simple leg 
lifts," Karen said, 
demonstrating the 
motion. "It'll 
help with your 
strength and flexibility."

Plankton grimaced 
but complied, his 
tiny legs shaking 
slightly as he 
lifted the one with 
the bandage. Hanna watched 
carefully, her face 
filled with 
concern, reaching out 
to steady his leg.

"Not so fast, 
Hanna," Karen 
chided gently. 
"Let him do it 
himself." Hanna 
quickly withdrew her 
hand, her cheeks 
flushing with 
embarrassment. She 
felt like she was 
always stepping 
on his toes, 
literally and figuratively. 
Plankton managed 
a few halfhearted 
lifts before 
his leg dropped 
back to the floor.
"See?" Karen 
said, her voice 
kind. "It's about 
building strength 
slowly." Plankton 
grunted but nodded, 
his face contorted 
with effort.

"Let's try 
again," Karen 
coached, placing 
a pillow 
under his leg 
for support. 
This time, Plankton 
was able to lift 
his leg a little 
higher.
"Good job," 
Hanna encouraged, 
her voice 
soft and 
encouraging. "I can 
see you're getting 
stronger already."
Plankton gritted 
his teeth and 
managed a few 
more lifts before 
his leg gave out 
again.

"Remember, it's 
about pacing 
yourself," Karen 
reminded him. 
"We don't want 
to push too 
hard too soon.
The exercises are
optional, they said."

Plankton nodded, 
his face a mask 
of determination. 
"I know," he 
grunted, his 
small body 
shaking with the 
effort. "But I have to 
try." Hanna 
could see the 
exhaustion 
settling into 
his eye. He was 
so tired..

"Take a break," 
Hanna suggested 
gently. Plankton 
looked at her 
with a mix of 
gratitude and 
frustration. "Fine," 
he agreed, 
letting his leg 
fall back 
to the pillow 
with a sigh.

Karen helped 
Plankton back 
to the couch, 
his crutches 
clattering 
as she guided 
his weight. His 
eye searched 
Hanna's face for 
any sign of 
pity, but found 
none. She was 
watching him with 
concerned respect.
"Thanks, Karen," 
he murmured 
once he was 
comfortably 
propped up again.
Hanna took 
a seat 
across from 
them, her 
hands clasped 
tightly in her 
lap tentatively.

The room 
was quiet as 
Plankton caught 
his breath. The 
exertion had 
tired him more 
than he cared 
to admit. He 
closed his eye, 
his antennae 
twitching slightly.
Karen sat 
beside him, her 
hand on his 
shoulder, 
offering silent 
support. Hanna 
watched from 
afar, her heart 
heavy with 
remorse. She 
longed to 
comfort him, 
but knew she had 
to give him the 
space he needed, as
Plankton leaned 
his head 
back into the 
couch cushion.
Slowly, his 
breathing evened 
out, and his 
body grew 
slack. His eye 
closed completely, 
and within minutes, 
his snores filled the 
room. Hanna 
exchanged a 
glance with 
Karen, who gave 
a small smile. They 
both knew that 
his nap was a 
sign of his 
exhaustion but 
also of his 
body's need to 
heal. The tension 
seemed to 
ease slightly 
with each 
snore that 
rattled from his 
tiny mouth.

Hanna took 
this opportunity 
to approach the 
couch, her 
movements careful 
not to disturb 
his sleep. She 
retrieved the 
throw pillow 
from the floor 
and gently placed 
it under his 
leg. Then she 
sat down next to 
Karen, her hand 
reaching out to 
cover hers. "I'm 
sorry," she 
whispered. Karen 
squeezed her hand 
back. "It's okay, 
he'll come 
around."

The two of 
them sat in 
silence, watching 
Plankton sleep. 
His chest rose 
and fell in a 
steady rhythm, 
his snores a 
comforting sound.

new kneesurgery hannacore 23

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 22
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

The science fair is a cacophony
of noise and color. Each
project vying for attention,
each child eager to show off
their hard work. Chip's
screen lights up with excitement.
Plankton's antennae twitch
nervously. The sensory overload
threatens to swamp him, but he
firmly holds onto Karen's hand.

"Karen?" Karen turns and
sees her friend Hanna. "Oh
Hanna!" She exclaims.

Hanna's eyes widen at
the sight of Plankton. "Is 
this your family?" Karen nods.
"We're here for our son Chip."
Hanna's smile is warm, but 
Plankton's antennae bristle,
his body stiff with tension.
He's not used to socializing,
especially not in a place like
this, with its unpredictability.

"Hi, I'm Karen's friend," Hanna says.
Plankton flinches, his antennae
waving frantically. "The name's
Hanna. You must be Karen's 
husband, Plankton.." Hanna exclaims
as she puts her hands on his shoulders.
Plankton's body goes rigid.
He's not used to touch, not like
this. The pressure sends a shock
wave through him. His eye
widens in panic, but he forces
a smile.

"Nice to meet you," he says,
his voice tight. He's masking, 
a technique he's honed over the
years to navigate the world that
doesn't quite fit him. The effort
it takes to appear normal is
exhausting, but for Chip, for
his family, he'll try. He takes
a deep breath, trying to
regulate his racing heart. But
Hanna's excitement won't abate.

"Oh, I've heard so much about
you!" Hanna says, her hands
squeezing his shoulders. Plankton
swallows hard, his antennae
twitching with the need to flee.
The sensory assault of her
perfume, the touch, the sound
of her voice, it's too much. But
he can't leave, not here, not
now. He smiles, a mask
covering his panic. "Yeah, it's
good to meet you too," he says,
his voice strained. Yet Hanna is
talkative and bubbly.

"Your son's 
projects are
always so 
amazing!" she 
gushes, her hand
now on his arm.
Plankton's antennae
twitch, but he keeps
his smile firmly in place.
He's masking, a
painful dance of
pretending to fit in,
his mind racing to
keep up with the
social cues. "Thanks,
he's very smart," he
forces out, hoping
his voice doesn't give
away the turmoil
inside.

"Look at all these wonderful
things!" Hanna yells, turning
to give Plankton's shoulder
another squeeze. Plankton's
body tenses, but his smile
doesn't falter. He's wearing
his mask today, the one
he's perfected over the years.
The one that lets him pretend
he's okay, that he fits in
this neurotypical world.

The lights in the gym
are too bright, the sounds too
loud. His antennae are on high
alert, his brain trying to filter
the onslaught. Karen's hand
in his is a lifeline, but even
she can't dull the sensory
overload. Yet he nods, he smiles,
he makes polite small talk.
He's a chameleon, blending
in as best he can, for his family.
For Chip, for Karen, he'll
weather this storm as best
he can.

Hanna won't let up. "Oh guess
what? I'm a trainer!"
Her laughter is a siren
to Plankton's sensitive hearing. 
"That's... amazing,"
he says, his voice strained. 
But Hanna doesn't notice.

"Do you come here often?"
Her question is a minefield
Plankton tries to tiptoe around.
"I, uh, I don't really come
so no," he stammers. "I mean, it's not—"
"Oh, you're so funny!" she 
interrupts, her hand on his arm
again. The pressure sends
shivers down his spine, but
he keeps smiling, keeps pretending.
"Heh, ye-"

Her touch is a thunderstorm
on his skin, but he keeps the mask
in place. "What do you do?"
Hanna asks, her eyes sparkling.
"I'm a scientist," Plankton
manages, his antennae vibrating
with the need to retreat.
"Wow, just like Chip!"
Her enthusiasm is a hurricane,
but he nods, his smile fixed.
"Ye-yes, I guess so-"

"Oh, you must be so proud!"
Her hand is still on his arm,
her grip tightening. The noise
in the gym crescendos around
him, each child's laughter
a pinprick in his overwhelmed
brain. "I, I am," he says,
his voice strained. She leans in,
too close for comfort. Plankton's
heart races, his antennae quivering.
He wants to scream, to pull
his arm away, to retreat.

"Look at Chip's project!" Hanna says,
pulling him closer to a table
covered in wires and circuits.
The lights from the screen
flicker over her face, casting
an eerie glow. Plankton's eye
darts around, searching for
his son, for a familiar face.
But Chip is engaged with his
classmates, explaining his creation.
He's missed the storm brewing
in his father's posture.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hanna asks,
her hand squeezing his arm
again. Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching with the pressure.
"It's... yes, it's very good,"
he says, his voice strained.
Karen notices, her eyes
full of concern. She knows
his limits, the tightrope he walks
between appearing sociable
and the screaming need
to retreat. But Hanna doesn't.

"Oh!" Hanna exclaims. "You
are SUCH a great dad to be so
supportive!" Her hand lands
on his shoulder, giving it a
hearty pat. The suddenness of
the touch sends a shock through
Plankton's body. He flinches, his antennae
waving in a silent cry for space.
But Hanna doesn't know, and
she's not quite done either.

"You must be so proud of him!"
Her hand moves to his back,
patting it in what she assumes
is a comforting gesture. But
for Plankton, it burns.

He tries to pull away, his
body screaming for space,
but her grip is firm, her
energy unrelenting. The room
spins, the lights grow brighter.
His antennae quiver with the
strain of holding on to his mask.

"Thank you," he says, his
voice a whisper of the
storm inside. "He's... a good
boy." Karen's hand squeezes
his, a silent reassurance.
The pressure of her touch
is comforting, but it's not
enough. The sensory assault
continues, Hanna's unrelenting.
He can't take it anymore. 
The mask is slipping,
his smile fading, but Hanna is not.

"You're such a great
father," Hanna says, her hand
now on his cheek. The suddenness
of the touch sends a jolt
of panic through him. His
eye darts around the room,
searching for escape.
The lights flicker, the sounds
meld into a cacophony.
He's drowning in a sea
of sensation, and Hanna is
the storm's eye, unaware
of the chaos she's causing. "And
Plankton, I think you're just
the sweetest!" she says, giving
his cheek a squeeze. The room
spins, his antennae a blur.
Hanna's smile only widens.
"Hey, don't be shy!" she laughs,
cupping his chin to make him
look at her. He needs space. But
Hanna won't back down.
The pressure builds, his mask
threatening to shatter.

He can't breathe, can't think.
The room is too bright, the
sounds too loud. Hanna's touch
is a brand, searing into his skin.
He tries to pull away, but
his body won't cooperate. "I'm..."
But Hanna interrupts him.

"Oh, you're just adorable!"
Her hand moves to his antennae.
Plankton's heart races, his
body a tight coil of panic.
He tries to smile, but his mouth
wobbles. "Hanna, I'm not—"
He's going to break.

His antennae quiver violently,
his body screaming for mercy.
The mask is slipping, his
eye pleading with Karen.
But she's engaged with
another parent, oblivious
to his distress. He tries
to pull away, but Hanna's
grip is unyielding.

"Hanna," he whispers, his voice
a thread of panic. "Please."
But she doesn't hear him,
doesn't see the pain in his
eye. She's too caught up
in her own excitement,
the storm of her affection
crashing down on him like
a waterfall.

He tries to step back, but
his legs are like lead. The
noise of the gym crescendos,
each laugh a needle in his ear.
The lights, the smells, the
sensations, they're all too
much. He needs to escape,
to find his quiet place.
But Hanna won't let him.

Her hand moves 
to tickle his side.
Her laugh makes
him hold his head.
But she keeps going,
unaware of his pain.
"Plankton you're so fun..."

But Plankton's body betrays him,
his stomach lurching. His hand
shoots to his mouth, eye
wide with horror. He can't. Then
suddenly...

He's sick. Right there,
on the floor of the crowded
gym. The smells, the sounds,
the touch. It's all too much.
He didn't mean to, but he
has no control. His body
heaves, and Hanna finally
retreats her hands.

new autism and all hannacore science fair

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 20


The first 
sign of 
movement was 
his antennae. 
They twitched 
slightly, then 
more vigorously. 
His eye cracked 
open, looking 
around the room 
in a daze.

"Wha- what happened?"
Plankton croaked, 
his voice 
slurred. Karen 
and Hanna 
exchanged glances, 
both smiling 
nervously. "Remember 
you've just had a 
procedure," Karen 
explained. "The doctor 
removed the excess 
bone glue." Plankton's 
eye widened. 
"Oh," he said, 
his mind still 
fuzzy from the 
sedative.

He looked 
around, taking 
in the 
white-walled room 
and the 
beeping machines. 
"Where am I?" 
he slurred, his 
eye droopy. Hanna 
chuckled. "You're 
still at the 
hospital, Plankton," 
she said. "In the 
recovery room." 
Plankton's gaze 
shifted to 
his bandaged leg, 
his expression 
still confused.

"What's going on?" 
he murmured, his 
hand reaching 
for the bandage. 
Karen gently 
guided his hand 
back. "It's all right," 
she assured him. 
"You're okay."

Plankton's eye 
focused on 
Hanna, then 
Karen again. 
"What's with the 
crutches?" he 
asked, his voice 
still groggy.
"You broke your leg, 
remember?" Hanna 
prompted, trying 
not to laugh. 
Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed the 
information.
"Oh yeah," he 
mumbled, his 
eyelid drooping.

Karen chuckled 
softly. "Looks like 
the doctor was 
right," she said 
to Hanna, who 
nodded. "Let's 
see what else he 
has in store."

Plankton's eye 
flitted around 
the room, his 
brain clearly 
still foggy from 
the anesthesia. 
"Is that... is 
that a jellyfish?" 
he slurred, 
pointing to a 
lamp in the 
corner. Karen 
laughed, shaking 
her head.
"No, Plankton," 
she said, 
gently patting his 
hand. "It's just a 
lamp." Hanna 
covered her 
mouth to stifle 
her giggles. Plankton 
frowned, his 
thoughts still 
scattered.
"Why are we 
laughing at me?" 
he asked, sounding 
slightly hurt. 
Karen leaned in, 
her smile 
reassuring. "It's just 
the medicine, 
sweetie. You're 
saying funny 
things," she said, 
keeping her voice 
soft. Plankton 
scowled, his 
cheeks reddening.

"Well, I don't 
think it's funny," 
he grumbled, his 
leg shifting 
slightly under 
the bandage. Hanna 
moved closer, 
her eyes 
dancing with 
mirth. "We're not 
laughing at you," 
she assured him. 
"We're just happy 
you're okay."

Plankton's 
frown deepened, 
his thoughts 
still jumbled. "But 
what if I say 
something I don't 
mean?" he 
asked, his voice 
weak. Karen 
squeezed his hand. 
"We know it's 
not you," she said. 
"It's the medicine."
Hanna nodded. 
"You're safe 
with us," she 
promised. "We won't 
judge you."

A nurse 
came in, 
checking his 
monitors. "Looks 
like you're 
coming around," 
she said, her 
voice cheerful. 
"How's the 
pain?" Plankton's 
expression grew 
serious. "It's 
bearable," he 
managed. The nurse 
smiled. "Good. We'll 
let you go home with
Karen, and Hanna, with just
your crutches; whenever
you're ready."

As the nurse 
left, Plankton 
turned to Karen. "So, 
what did I miss?" 
he asked, his 
eye half-closed. 
Hanna couldn't 
help but laugh. 
"You've been 
asleep," she 
replied. "But don't 
worry, we've got 
everything under 
control." Plankton 
frowned, trying 
to remember. "Let's 
get you home," Karen 
said, her voice 
soothing. Hanna 
gathered their 
things as Karen 
helped Plankton
towards the exit. 
The sun was 
now fully up, 
its warm rays 
filtering through 
the hospital's 
large windows.

In the car, 
Plankton leaned 
back, his 
bandaged leg 
sticking out. 
"So, who's driving 
me home?" he 
asked, his voice 
slightly slurred. 
"I am," Karen 
said, her eyes 
on the road. 
"And Hanna's 
coming with.
She's gonna sit
in the back with you."

Plankton's eye 
flitted to the 
rearview mirror. 
"Hey, Hanna," he 
slurred. "You look 
okay today." 
Hanna blushed, 
her cheeks 
flushing pink. "Th-thank you, 
Plankton," she 
stammered. "But you're 
the one who 
just had surgery." 
He chuckled, 
his laugh 
sounding strange 
in the quiet car. 
"I know," he said. 
"But you're always 
so... so... cheerful.
But don't tell my
wife Karen!" Karen's 
grip tightened 
on the steering 
wheel, trying 
not to laugh. 
Hanna smiled.

Plankton's 
head lolled to 
the side, his 
eye still 
half-open. "What 
was surgery like?" 
Hanna asked, 
trying to keep 
the conversation 
going. He took a 
moment to 
consider her 
question, then 
his expression 
brightened with 
a loopy smile. 
"It was like, poof!" 
he exclaimed, 
his hands 
gesturing wildly. 
"The doctor made 
me float!" He 
laughed at his 
own silliness, 
his eye
half-lidded with 
sleep. "Plankton, you 
were asleep the 
whole time," Karen 
reminded him.

"No, no," 
Plankton 
insisted, his 
voice gaining 
volume. "I swear! 
Suddenly my leg 
was fixed!"
Hanna couldn't 
help but join 
his laughter, 
while Karen's 
smile grew.

"Okay, okay," 
Hanna said, 
wiping a tear 
from her eye. 
"We believe you," 
she assured him.
"You're quite the 
storyteller, even 
under the influence 
of anesthesia." Plankton's 
laughter subsided as his
eyelid drooped 
again. His
head nodded 
slightly, his 
eye blinking 
slowly. Hanna 
watched him. "Hey, 
I'm not tired." He
says, to which
Hanna chuckled 
softly. "Well Plankton,
let's just see about tha-"

He was out 
cold before 
she could 
finish her sentence
as her words
were cut off by 
his sudden 
snore, his head 
lolling against 
the car seat as his 
eye closed fully. Karen
glanced back 
at him in the 
rearview mirror, 
her smile 
warm. "Looks like 
you've had enough 
excitement for 
one day," she 
said. Hanna nodded, 
her gaze lingering 
on Plankton's 
bandaged leg.

With his snores 
echoing, they 
arrived home.
Karen parked 
carefully in the 
garage.
"We're home," 
she announced.
Hanna 
unbuckled 
his seatbelt. 
"Let's get him 
up," Karen 
instructed, 
turning around
to face her sleeping
husband, for Plankton's 
snores grew 
louder. Gently, they 
nudged him. "Plankton, 
it's time to wake 
up," Hanna 
coaxed. His 
eye fluttered 
open. "We're home," 
she whispered. 
He nodded 
slowly, his 
eyelid drooping. 
"Kay," he 
mumbled.

They both 
moved to 
help him out of 
the car, 
his crutches 
waiting by 
his side. 
Plankton leaned 
heavily on 
them, his cast 
leg feeling like 
a weight. Hanna 
offered her 
hand for 
support, which 
he took 
gratefully. His 
eye kept 
closing, his 
body fighting 
the urge to 
sleep. Karen 
guided him 
towards the 
house, her arm 
around his 
wobbling figure.
They managed 
to navigate 
the short 
distance to 
the couch, 
his crutches 
scraping 
the floor 
with each 
step. "Almost 
there," Karen 
encouraged, her 
voice gentle. 
"Just a 
little more."

With a 
final heave, 
they got him 
safely on the 
couch, 
his bandaged leg 
sticking out. 
Hanna 
grabbed a pillow 
and tucked 
it under his 
leg, her 
movements 
careful. Plankton 
sighed, his 
body sinking 
into the 
soft cushions. 
"Thanks, Hanna," 
he murmured. 
"No problem," 
she said, her 
voice light.
Karen fluffed up 
the pillows 
and made 
sure he was 
comfortable before 
sitting beside 
him. "Movie 
night," she 
announced, her 
eyes twinkling. 
Plankton nodded, 
as Hanna sat on
the other side of him.

The movie 
started playing, 
the room 
bathing in the 
glow of the 
television. 
He looked over 
at Hanna, 
his antennae 
waving slightly. 
"Hey, look, that's 
my leg stand," 
he said, his 
eye half-closed. 
Karen couldn't 
help but laugh.

Plankton 
attempted to 
reposition himself 
on the couch, 
his bandaged leg 
thumping against 
the cushions. "Whoa, 
this thing's like a 
log," he 
slurred, trying 
to lift it with 
his arms. 
Hanna giggled. "Let 
us help," she 
offered, taking 
his crutches 
and leaning them 
against the coffee
table.

The movie played 
on, a gentle hum 
of background 
noise. Plankton's 
head bobbed 
slightly, his 
eyelid drooping 
as he fought 
the pull of 
sleep. Karen 
noticed and 
shifted closer, 
placing a 
hand on his 
shoulder. "You 
okay?" she 
whispered. He 
nodded. "Mmhmm," 
he murmured, 
his antennae 
barely moving. 
"Just... I'm really 
ti-"

Suddenly, his 
head lolled 
back and he 
was out again. 
Hanna's laughter 
filled the room. 
"Looks like the 
medicine's 
still got him," she 
said, smiling. 
Karen nodded, 
her hand 
still on his 
shoulder. "Poor 
thing," she 
whispered. 
They watched 
the rest of the 
movie in a 
comfortable 
silence, the 
sound of 
Plankton's snores 
providing a 
soothing 
backdrop to their 
evening.

new kneesurgery hannacore 20

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 16


The following 
morning, Hanna 
is the first to stir, 
carefully rising 
from the couch. She
pads down the 
hallway, her 
footsteps quiet 
so as not to 
disturb anyone.
Her eyes catch 
the open door to Karen
and Plankton's room, and 
she peers in, 
seeing Karen has just
woken up. Plankton's 
sleeping soundly 
in his own bed, his 
cast sticking out 
from under the 
covers as he 
snores softly. 
"He's okay," Karen 
whispers, noticing 
Hanna's concern.

Hanna nods, 
swallowing a 
lump in her 
throat. "I know," 
she whispers back. 
"But I just...wanted 
to check." Karen 
smiles, patting 
the bed next to 
her. "Why don't you 
sit down?" she says. 
"We can talk."
Hanna sits, 
her eyes fixed 
on Plankton's 
sleeping form. His 
casted leg is 
propped on a 
pillow, and 
his antennae twitch 
slightly, as if 
he's dreaming.

"So, how do we 
help him?" Hanna 
asks, her voice 
still hushed. Karen 
sighs. "We give him space 
and let him come to 
us," she says. "But we 
also need to be 
ready when he does 
want help."

Hanna nods, 
thinking. "What 
was the surgery like?" 
she whispers. Karen 
smiles sadly. "It was a 
complicated one," 
she says. "They had to 
use bone glue to 
reattach his leg."
Hanna's eyes widen. 
"Bone glue?" she 
repeats, her voice 
filled with horror. 
"It's a thing," Karen 
assures her. "It's not 
as scary as it sounds.
They're just taking 
extra precautions 
to ensure he heals 
properly."

Her curiosity 
still piqued, Hanna 
can't help but ask 
more. "What was it 
like when he was 
under?" she says, 
her voice barely a 
breath. Karen's 
expression turns 
serious. "It's a delicate 
procedure," she 
explains. "They had to 
make sure he was 
completely numb to 
the pain. That's why 
he was asleep."
Hanna nods, 
swallowing hard. "But 
how?" she asks, 
looking back at 
Plankton.

"They used
general anesthesia."
Hanna's eyes 
widen even more. 
"And what did he
look like?"

Karen sighs, 
knowing that 
Hanna's questions 
are a way for 
her to process 
what happened. 
"He was unconscious," 
she says. "They 
monitored him the 
whole time to 
make sure he was 
okay. As they first 
started the anesthesia 
as it kicked in, I knew
Plankton was asleep as 
his breathing evened 
out and his 
movements stopped.
It was...peaceful," she
adds, her voice 
trailing off. "And upon
waking up, I was 
there to help him 
understand."

Hanna nods, 
taking this in. 
"And what was it 
like when he 
woke up?" she 
asks, her voice 
barely a whisper.

Karen looks at 
Hanna, her gaze 
filled with 
compassion. "He was 
confused at first," 
she says. "But I 
explained everything 
to him." Hanna nods, 
still staring at 
Plankton.

"How do we 
talk to him?" 
she asks. "What can 
I do to make him 
comfortable?"

Karen pauses, 
thinking. "Just 
be yourself," she 
suggests. "But maybe 
a little more...gentle.
He's dealing with a 
lot of pain and 
frustration. Try not 
to take his snaps 
personally." Hanna nods, 
her eyes still on 
Plankton. "What else?" 
she whispers.

"Well," Karen 
says, leaning in 
closer. "You could 
ask before doing,
and just maybe not 
push so hard or make
it to obvious that you're
trying to help."

Hanna nods, 
processing the 
advice. "And when 
he gets frustrated, 
what should I do?"
she asks, her voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Karen 
smiles gently. "Just 
be there," she says. 
"Let him know 
you care without 
smothering him. Give 
him space to express 
his feelings, even if 
they're not pretty."

In the quiet 
of the room, they 
both watch as 
Plankton stirs in 
his sleep. His 
antennas twitch, 
and his casted 
leg shifts slightly. 
"Is he okay?"
she whispers.

"Yes, he's just 
waking up," Karen 
says, standing 
carefully. "Let's 
give him some 
space." Hanna nods, 
getting to her 
feet as she leaves
Karen and Plankton's
bedroom.

In the living room, 
she sits and takes 
deep breaths, 
trying to compose 
herself. She hears 
a shuffling noise
from the 
hallway and 
Plankton hobbles 
in on his crutches, 
his cast a stark 
white. He lowers himself 
carefully onto the 
couch. "Morning," she 
says tentatively.
He looks up, but 
doesn't respond. 
Hanna's heart 
aches, but she 
follows Karen's advice 
and doesn't push.

Instead, she goes 
to the kitchen, 
preparing a 
glass of chum juice.

When she brings 
it back, Plankton 
nods in thanks.
They sit in 
silence for a 
moment before 
Hanna finally speaks.
"I'm sorry for 
last night," she 
says softly. "I didn't 
mean to make you 
upset." Plankton 
looks at her, his 
expression unreadable.
He takes a 
sip of his chum 
juice, the silence 
stretching between 
them. "I'll 
try to be more 
considerate," she 
says. Plankton 
sighs, leaning back 
into the couch as
Karen comes in.

"How's everyone 
doing?" she asks, 
forcing cheer into 
her voice. Plankton 
shrugs. "I'm okay," 
he says, his tone 
noncommittal. Karen 
exchanges a look 
with Hanna. "Why don't 
we watch something 
to keep our 
minds off things?"
she suggests.

The TV flickers to 
life, and the 
sound of laugh track
fills the room. Plankton
shifts uncomfortably, 
his cast a 
reminder of his 
new reality. Hanna 
sits next to him, 
keeping her distance 
but still close enough 
to be there if 
needed. Karen sits
on the other side of him.

They watch a sitcom, 
the laughter echoing 
in the quiet room. 
Plankton tries to 
concentrate, but 
his thoughts drift to 
his surgery, his leg, 
his new limitations. 
His antennae droop, 
and he takes a deep 
breath. Hanna notices 
his discomfort and 
shifts closer.

"Do you want me 
to get you anything?" 
she asks quietly. 
Plankton's eye 
flits to her, and for 
a moment, he 
considers snapping 
again. But he 
swallows it down. 
"No," he says, his 
voice gruff.

They continue to 
watch the TV, the 
forced laughter 
a stark contrast 
to the tension 
in the room. Karen 
clears her throat. "Why 
don't I get you your meds?"
Plankton nods, 
his antennae 
drooping. "That'd 
be great," he mumbles.
Hanna watches as 
Karen tends to him.

new kneesurgery hannacore 16

me📱4️⃣

new ii iii mephone4 inanimate insanity object show

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."

new plush one hannacore xviii

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.

new plush one hannacore xii

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.

new plush one hannacore xiii

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.

new plush one hannacore xiv

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.

new plush one hannacore xv

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."

new plush one hannacore xvi

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.

new plush one hannacore xix

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.

new plush one hannacore xx

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.

new plush one hannacore x

Tʜᴇ Aᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ
(SᴘᴏɴɢᴇBᴏʙ ғᴀɴғɪᴄ) 
Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs ᴍᴏʟᴅᴇᴅ ʜɪs sʜᴇʟʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɢʀᴇᴡ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ.
Hᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʟᴅᴇᴅ sʜᴇʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ
ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʙʏ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴏ ʟᴀɢᴏᴏɴ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ.
"Kʀᴀʙs?" Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ sᴀᴡ ʜɪs ʟɪғᴇʟᴇss sʜᴇʟʟ ᴏᴜᴛʟɪɴᴇ ʙᴇ sᴡᴇᴘᴛ
ᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ, sʟᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴀ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ɪɴ
ᴛᴏ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇs. Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ's ɴᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ.
"Eᴜɢᴇɴᴇ! Iғ I'ᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ sᴏᴏɴᴇʀ, ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ..." ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ ᴀs ᴀ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟʙᴏʏ
ʙᴜᴛ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜs ᴇɴᴠʏ ʀᴜɪɴᴇᴅ ɪᴛ. Nᴏʀᴍᴀʟʟʏ, ᴀ sᴇᴛʙᴀᴄᴋ ғᴏʀ
Kʀᴀʙs ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴜsɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪs ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴛᴀɢᴇ. "I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ
ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ?"
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴋɴᴇʟᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ᴛᴇᴀʀs. "I ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ 
ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ sᴘᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴀ sᴄʜᴇᴍᴇ..." Mʀ.
Kʀᴀʙs, ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ sɪɢʜᴛ, sᴀᴡ ʙɪᴛs ᴏғ ʜɪs sʜᴇʟʟ 
ᴡɪᴛʜ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴇᴀʀsʜᴏᴛ.
"I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡᴇ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ...
I ᴊᴜsᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡɪsʜᴇᴅ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ!" 
Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴄᴏɴғʟɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ.
Rᴇᴛᴜʀɴɪɴɢ, Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ
ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛᴀᴜʀᴀɴᴛ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ. "Sʜᴇʟᴅᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ
ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏɴᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ..." Kᴀʀᴇɴ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ sᴀᴅ. "ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ 
ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ..." "I ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ
ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇss sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ."
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ᴜᴘ ᴀʟʟ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ ʙᴇɪɴɢ
ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴇʟʟ ᴄʀᴀsʜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀ.
"I'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ..." Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴛᴏʟᴅ
Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ. "Pᴇʀʜᴀᴘs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ
Kʀᴀʙs..." Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ɪғ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡ...
"I ᴍᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ sʜᴇʟʟ..." Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴀs ʜᴇ
ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʜᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡɪᴛɴᴇssᴇᴅ. "Hᴇ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ..." "I'ʟʟ ɢᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ." Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs sᴀɪᴅ.
Kʀᴀʙs ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ
ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ғʟᴏᴡᴇʀs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀsʜ
ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ. Lᴀʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴇ Lᴏʙsᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ʜɪs sʜɪғᴛ
ᴀs ᴀ ʟɪғᴇɢᴜᴀʀᴅ. Wʜɪʟsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ɢʀᴇᴇᴛᴇᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ʜɪᴛ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴡᴀᴠᴇ, ʀᴇɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴇʟᴘʟᴇss.
Kʀᴀʙs sᴀᴡ ʜɪᴍ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ. "Sʜᴇʟᴅᴏɴ..." 
Aғᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴇɪɴɢ Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ
Lᴀʀʀʏ ᴅɪᴠᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ sᴀᴠɪɴɢ
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʟᴏsᴛ ᴀᴛ sᴇᴀ.
Hᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ
ғᴏʀ Lᴀʀʀʏ. "I'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀʟʟ I ᴄᴀɴ..." Lᴀʀʀʏ sᴀɪᴅ.
"I'ʟʟ ᴄᴀʟʟ Sᴀɴᴅʏ!" Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs sᴀɪᴅ
ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ sʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ
ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟʏ ʜᴇʟᴘ. Sᴀɴᴅʏ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ.
Kᴀʀᴇɴ sᴄᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ
ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ ᴀs sᴀɴᴅʏ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴠɪᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ.
"I ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪs ʟᴇɢ ʜɪᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴄᴋ
ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ғʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ...
Gᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴀɴᴅᴀɢᴇs, ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴇᴛ Kʀᴀʙs
ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ
ᴊᴜsᴛ ɪɴ ᴄᴀsᴇ...
Aғᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴡᴀs sʜᴏᴡɪɴɢ sɪɢɴs
ᴏғ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ. ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴍʙᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ, ʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ
ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ. "Eʜ... " 
"Rᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ?" Kᴀʀᴇɴ
ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴜᴍ ʙᴜᴄᴋᴇᴛ.
Kᴀʀᴇɴ ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅɪsᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴇᴅ 
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴀᴛ. "Kʀᴀʙs ᴍᴏʟᴅᴇᴅ 
ʜɪs sʜᴇʟʟ; ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ
ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴀs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ sʜᴇᴅ..."
Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴᴇᴅ, ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ Sᴘᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴛ ᴀᴍᴏᴇʙᴀ
ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ sᴛᴀʏ ʙʏ ʜɪᴍ.
"Is ʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ?" Asᴋᴇᴅ Kʀᴀʙs
ᴠɪsɪᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ.
Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ Sᴘᴏᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ
ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ, ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇsᴛ. "Sᴏᴜɴᴅs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ
ᴍᴜsᴛ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏᴢᴇᴅ..." Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴏʙsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ
ʜᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏ̨ᴜɪᴇᴛ sᴛᴇʀᴛᴏʀs ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ
ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴏᴇʙᴀ ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ.
Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs sᴀᴡ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ's ᴀʀᴍ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ
Sᴘᴏᴛ, ʟᴇɢ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ. "I'ᴠᴇ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴀ ɢɪғᴛ
ғᴏʀ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ..." Kᴀʀᴇɴ ᴡᴀs ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴀ
Kʀᴀʙʙʏ Pᴀᴛᴛʏ. "Iᴛ's ғᴏʀ Pʟᴀɴᴋᴛᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ, sᴀᴠᴇ ɪᴛ ғᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ..." Mʀ. Kʀᴀʙs
ᴡᴀs ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ.

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ᵀᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴮᵘˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢ
⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾
ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ᵃˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡⁱᵐᵖᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃ
ᶠᵃⁱˡᵘʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰⁱˢ‧ ᴷⁿᵉᵉ ᵇᵘᶜᵏˡⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ ˡᵉᵍ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ
ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ⁱᵗ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ‧ "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ; ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗʳⁱᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ᵇʸ
ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ˡᵉᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁱᶜᵏ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ ʰᵃʳᵈ‧ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ
ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᵐʸ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵍᵃˡ ᵖᵃˡ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ; ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵍᵒ!" ᔆᵃⁱᵈ
ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵃˡˢ ʰᵉʳ‧ ᴼⁿᶜᵉ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ
ᔆʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧
"ᵀʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵇʸˢⁱᵗᵗᵉʳ‧‧‧" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵗᵒˡᵈ
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ʰᵉˡᵖ
ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ‧‧" ˢᵃⁿᵈʸ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗʳʸ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵃˢ ʰᵘʳᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ
ᵐᵘᶜʰ‧ "ᵁʳᵍʰ!" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵗ! ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ
ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡᵉᵍ ⁱˢ ᵗᵒ ʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ
ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᶠʳᵘˢᵗʳᵃᵗᵉᵈ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵉⁿᵍᵗʰ ʸᵉᵗ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ
ʸᵒᵘ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃˡ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᶜᵏᵉʳ ʷⁱˡˡ ʰᵉᵃˡ!" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ ᵃ
ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵒⁿ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉᵍ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᔆʰᵃᵏᵉʸ
ᵖᵘᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵒⁿᵗ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵍᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ
ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ‧ "ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵒⁿ
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵃ‧‧‧" "ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ!" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ˡᵉᵃᵈˢ
ᵗᵒ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵃⁿ
ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʸᵒᵘ!" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵇʸ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ‧‧"
"ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᵘˡᵗ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧
"ᔆᵉᵉᵐˢ ˢᵒʳᵉ‧‧‧" ᔆᵃⁱᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵃᵗ ⁱᵗ
ˢᵃᵈˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ‧ "ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵒʳ ᵖᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ
ᵖˡᵃʸ ᵃ ᵇᵒᵃʳᵈ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ?" "ᴵ'ᵈ ᵖˡᵃʸ ᶜᵃʳᵈˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ'ᵈ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ʰᵉˡᵖ
ʸᵒᵘ ᴵ ʰᵒˡᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵈˢ‧‧" ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʲᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ‧ "ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵐᵉ
ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃʳᵈˢ ˢᵒ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵒⁿ!" ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵈ‧ @ALYJACI

new plankdy planktarendy sandarenton shelbob playcore injuryposting legcore karennktonndy taking care of business

1/2 THE MOOON

Karen took a seat by the 
window. She could feel the 
tension in the room, a palpable 
thing that thickened the air.

The dentist, a man with a name 
tag that read "Dr. McFinley," entered 
the room. Plankton 
swallowed hard as he took his place 
in the chair.

The nurse began prepping him, 
wrapping a bib around and 
placing in his mouth a prop that 
looked like a doorstop, designed 
to keep his mouth open wide.

"Now, Mr. Plankton," Dr. McFinley 
said, "We're going to give you 
some anesthesia to make sure 
you don't feel a thing. It might 
taste a bit funny, but just relax 
and let it do it's job."

The nurse administers the anesthetic into 
Plankton's gum, and he felt a cold 
spread through his jaw, a strange 
tingling that grew more intense 
with each passing moment as 
his mouth grew numb.

"Ok Plankton, I want you to start 
counting backwards from twenty."

Plankton took a deep breath. 
"Twenty... nineteen... eighteen..."
With each number, his voice grew 
softer, his eyelid heavier. By the 
time he reached fifteen, his speech 
was slurred, the words barely 
audible. Karen watched with a mix 
of concern and fascination as 
his count grew less deliberate.

"Thir...four... th...thwee..." His 
counting trailed off, and his head 
lolled to the side with a gentle snore. 
The nurse gave a knowing smile 
and patted Plankton's shoulder.

"He's under," she assured Karen
as she gently moved his head back
into place.

Karen's gaze followed every move 
Dr. McFinley made. The chair leaned back, 
and Plankton's snores grew softer as 
his consciousness retreated. She watched 
as the doctor's gloved hands moved 
precision over Plankton's slack jaw, 
his face a mask of concentration. She 
squeezed her own hand into a fist, 
nails digging into her palm, as the 
instruments moved in and out 
of his mouth, a silent ballet of 
extraction.

The chair's hydraulics hissed 
as it tipped back, and a bright light 
was shone directly into Plankton's 
open mouth. The nurse held his 
mouth open wider, her grip firm 
but gentle. Dr. McFinley's eyes 
narrowed in concentration, and 
his hands worked with a steady 
rhythm. Plankton's 
body remained still.

The nurse leaned in closer, 
assisting Dr. McFinley with a 
suction device, clearing away 
the excess saliva and blood. 
Karen forced herself to keep looking, 
to be there for Plankton, even if he 
wasn't aware of it. The doctor's 
face was a study in focus, his 
forehead creased with the effort 
of maneuvering around the 
obstinate tooth. The 
relief was palpable, even though 
Plankton remained blissfully 
unaware of the progress.  The nurse's eyes 
flitted between her monitor and 
Plankton's face, ensuring his 
vitals remained stable while 
offering quiet encouragement to 
the doctor. Karen watched 
as the doctor's pliers gripped 
the tooth and began to apply 
steady pressure, his knuckles 
whitening with the effort.

The tooth didn't want to give 
up without a fight, resisting 
with a stubbornness that mirrored 
Plankton's own spirit. The tension 
in the room grew, and Karen 
found herself leaning forward, 
her screen glued to the doctor's 
hands. The pliers twisted and 
pulled, and she could see a bead 
of sweat form on the doctor's brow. 
Finally the tooth gave way, and it was 
out. Karen couldn't help but let 
out a sigh of relief.

The nurse quickly moved in 
to clean and clamp the area, 
while Dr. McFinley turned to 
the final tooth. Plankton's 
snores grew more peaceful.

With the same methodical 
care, Dr. McFinley began to 
loosen the last tooth. The 
pliers clamped down, and 
the chair's light cast eerie 
shadows across the room.

Plankton's snores grew deeper, 
his body tensing slightly. 

Finally, the last tooth was free. 

The stitching process began. 
Karen had 
never seen someone so vulnerable, 
even though he was unconscious.
Each stitch brought him one step 
closer to being whole again, and 
she felt a strange sense of pride 
watching the doctor's skilled hands.

Dr. McFinley's fingers moved 
nimbly, weaving in and out 
of the gum line. The 
tiny sutures looked like black 
threads on a red canvas, 
a delicate art form in the 
steady hands of a master. The room was silent 
except for the occasional beep 
of the machines and the soft 
swish of the nurse's gloves. Plankton's 
face remained a picture of peaceful 
oblivion. The nurse 
handed over the sutures with a 
practiced ease, and Dr. McFinley 
went to tie them off, one by one.

Karen watched the doctor's 
hands as they moved, the sutures 
forming neat little knots in Plankton's 
swollen gums. It was a dance of 
care and precision, a silent 
battle against pain that Plankton 
was blessed to not feel. His mouth, 
usually so expressive and full of 
life, was now a numb battlefield, 
his features slack and vulnerable.

"It is done," said Dr. McFinley, 
his voice cutting through 
the taut silence. The chair 
was brought back to an upright 
position, and Plankton's head 
was gently cradled as they
removed the mouth prop. 
His mouth was still open. 
The doctor stepped back, 
wiping his brow with the 
back of his gloved hand. 
"Your husband did very well. 
The extraction was successful."

Plankton's chest rose 
and fell with deep, even breaths, 
his face pale and serene. 
The nurse began to clean him 
up, her movements efficient 
but gentle. She removed the bib, 
dabbed at the corners of 
his mouth. Plankton's eye 
remains closed. Karen studied his face, 
his features relaxed in sleep, 
his mouth slightly ajar. The 
sight was both peaceful and 
painfully vulnerable, and she 
couldn't help but feel a pang 
of protectiveness.

As the minutes ticked by, 
his snores grew less frequent 
and his breathing grew more 
even.

The nurse, noticing Karen's 
worried gaze, leaned over 
to whisper, "It's normal for 
patients to have some 
funny reactions when coming out 
of anesthesia. They might say 
things that don't make sense, 
or their body might do some 
funny things. It's the anesthesia 
wearing off, nothing to worry about.
They might even act like they're 
a bit drunk, or just sleepy for today.
It's all perfectly normal."

Her words brought a hint of 
comfort to Karen, who nodded, 
wondering with excitement and 
fear what state Plankton would 
be in when he awoke. She had 
read about the disorientation 
that could accompany anesthesia 
but had never witnessed it firsthand.

The first signs of movement 
from Plankton were subtle, a 
twitch of his antennae, and 
Karen leaned in closer in anticipation.

"Plankton," she whispered, 
squeezing his hand. "It's over."
His eye fluttered open, 
lid heavy with sleep and 
confusion. "It's ok," she soothed, 
stroking his arm. "You're all done."

He blinked slowly, his eye
unfocused, looking around the 
white-walled room as if trying to 
remember where he was. His mouth 
was still numb. "Karen?" he mumbled.

"I'm here," she said, her voice 
calm and steady. "The surgery is over, 
sweetheart. You're going to be 
ok."

Plankton's eye searched hers, 
his pupil dilated and unfocused. 
"Wha...what happen'd?" he slurred, 
his words coming out thick and 
slow.

Karen chuckled softly, her 
heart swelling with love and 
relief. "You had your wisdom teeth 
removed, remember?"

Plankton's eye widened, 
then narrowed as he tried to 
recall the events of the 
day. His mouth felt like a 
cotton field, and his tongue was 
a clumsy intruder, thick and 
unresponsive.

"I... Don' member," 
he murmured, his voice still 
slurred and distant.

The nurse chuckled 
under her mask, "It's the 
medication, dear. It'll wear 
off in a bit."

Plankton tried to sit up, but 
his body felt like it had 
been filled with sand. Karen 
gently pushed him back down, 
laughing at his groggy protests. 
His eye searched the room.

"Whewe am I?" he slurred, 
his antennae waving about.

"You're at the dentist," Karen 
reminded him, her voice filled 
with amusement. "You had your 
wisdom teeth removed."

Plankton's expression was 
that of a man who had just 
been told he had swum to 
the moon. "Dentist?" he 
repeated, his voice thick and 
uncertain. "Teef?" His hand 
flopped up to his mouth, his 
fingers probing the swollen 
gums. "My moufs gone!" he exclaimed, 
his words slurred and astonished.

The nurse chuckled 
sympathetically. "The numbness 
will wear off, but for now, 
try to relax."

Plankton's eye blinked 
slowly, and he looked at 
his hand as if it belonged 
to someone else.

"My teef," he said again, 
his voice a mix of 
disbelief and confusion. 
He looked around the room, 
his gaze unfocused and 
glassy, taking in the 
unfamiliar surroundings. 
The nurse and Karen 
exchanged a knowing 
glance.

"Yeah, you're missing a few 
now," Karen said, 
trying to keep her voice 
even.

Plankton's eye grew 
wider, his antennae 
standing at full alert. "I'm not... 
I'm not drunk," he protested, 
his words slurring. The nurse 
laughed gently, "No, Mr. 
Plankton, you're just coming 
out of anesthesia."

new the mooon karenton karankton ½

2/2 THE MOOON

Karen couldn't help 
but giggle at his befuddled 
state. His usual stoic demeanor 
was nowhere to be seen, 
replaced by a childlike 
wonder and confusion. He 
tried to sit up again, his 
movements clumsy and 
uncoordinated. "Stay still," 
she said, placing a firm 
but gentle hand on his 
shoulder.
"How... how's it... it over?" he 
slurred, his mouth feeling 
like it was stuffed with cotton
trying to form words around 
his thick tongue.

The nurse, who had seen 
this reaction before, 
offered a reassuring pat 
on the arm. "You're all done, 
Mr. Plankton. The anesthesia 
is just taking its time to 
wear off. You're going to feel 
a bit funny for a while."

Plankton's eye rolled back, 
his body lolling to the 
side like a ragdoll's. "I can't 
feel my face," he mumbled, 
his words barely coherent. 
"It's the anesthesia," she 
explained, her voice soft and 
soothing. "It'll wear off soon."

Plankton's eye rolled 
back in his head, and 
his antennae flopped to 
the sides as if they had lost 
their will to stand tall. "I've 
been... I've been... to the 
mooon!" he exclaimed, his 
slurred words tripping over 
each other. The nurse and 
Karen couldn't help but laugh 
at his nonsensical rambling.

"The moon?" Karen 
managed to get out between 
giggles. "You mean the dentist's 
chair?"

Plankton's eye snapped 
back to hers, his antennae 
perking up slightly. "No, no... 
the moo... the cheesy moo!" he 
insisted, his speech still 
slurred and his gaze 
unfocused. His hand 
waved in the air, trying to 
describe something that 
clearly only existed in his 
anesthesia-induced haze.

Karen's laughter grew 
louder as she 
watched him. "The cheesy moon?" 
she repeated, trying to make 
sense of his gibberish. 
The nurse's chuckles grew 
to a full-blown laugh, shaking 
her whole body. "It's ok
Mr. Plankton," she said, 
wiping a tear from her eye. 
"You're safe here."

Plankton's antennae 
waved erratically, his mouth 
forming another round of 
slurred syllables. "The... the... 
shmoobly wobble!" he exclaimed, 
his eye glazed over with a 
far-off look. "Whewe's shmoobly
go?"

Karen couldn't hold back 
her laughter anymore. 
"Oh, Plankton, you're so 
funny when you're like this!"
she exclaimed, her voice 
full of mirth.

"Fum-fum," Plankton 
slurred. "I'm not 
fum-fum," he protested, his 
voice a mix of indignation 
and the lingering effects of 
the anesthesia. His antennae 
wobbled. "Wha’ you do wiff 
Mx shmoobly?"

"Your mouth is just numb," she 
explained, her voice shaking 
with laughter. "You had 
wisdom teeth removed."

"Widom... teef?" Plankton 
repeated, his voice a mix of 
slurs and half-sounds. "The... 
the shmoobly wobble took 
them?"

Karen's laughter grew. "No, Plankton, 
your wisdom teeth. They were 
removed."

Plankton's eye searched hers, 
his expression one of utter 
perplexity. "But... but where's 
the shmoobly wobble?" he demanded, 
his mouth a mess of numbness 
and anesthesia.

Karen couldn't contain her 
laughter any longer, bending 
over in her seat, her hand 
over her screen. The nurse 
was equally amused, her shoulders 
shaking with silent giggles.

"Shmoobly wobble?" she 
managed to ask between gasps. 
"What's a shmoobly wobble?"

Plankton's antennae 
waved with the vigor of a 
drunken sailor. "It's... it's a... 
a vnorbly snork!" he exclaimed, 
his words a delightful jumble 
that made no sense in the 
sober world. Karen's laughter 
was infectious, and even the nurse 
found it hard to maintain her 
professional demeanor.

"A vnorbly snork?" she 
repeated, her smile growing 
wider. "What does that do?"

Plankton's face 
scrunched up as he 
tried to gather his thoughts. 
"It... it makes... makes the teef... 
it makes the teef go bye-bye!" 
he exclaimed, his antennae 
waving wildly. The nurse 
covered her mouth, her eyes 
twinkling with amusement. 
"Oh, I see," she said, nodding 
as if she understood. "The 
shmoobly wobble is quite 
a character."

Karen wiped a tear 
from her screen, her 
laughter subsiding. "I think 
we should get you home, 
sweetheart," she said, her voice 
still thick with mirth. "You 
need to rest."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, his gaze 
firmly locked on the nurse. 
"The... the... snibble-bobble?" 
he declared. "Take the 
snibble-bobble home, Karen..."

The nurse's eyes 
twinkled with humor and she nodded. 
"Yes, Mr. Plankton. The snibble-
bobble will take good care of 
you at home."

Plankton's mouth 
opened and closed a few 
times, trying to form 
words that simply would 
not come out right. "Karen, 
did you... did you see the... the... 
the... floobly-doobly?"

Karen's laughter 
bubbled up again. "The floobly-
doobly?" she repeated, her voice 
wobbling with mirth. "What's a 
floobly-doobly?"

Plankton looked at her with
confusion. "Huh? The whath?"
He asked her.

Karen tried to calm her
laughter.
"The floobly-doobly, Plankton,"
she said, smiling broadly. "You
mentioned it just now."

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his thoughts a jumble. "I... I don't
know," he murmured, his voice
trailing off.

With the nurse's help, Karen 
managed to get him into a sitting
position, his movements sluggish
and clumsy. His legs felt like jellyfish,
flailing about with no sense of
direction. "Come on," she coaxed,
helping him stand. 

Plankton's eye remained 
half-closed as he stumbled towards
the door. The hallway looked 
like a twisted kelp forest, and 
his body felt like a ship adrift 
without a compass. The nurse 
provided a steady arm, guiding 
him down the corridor.

"Keep walking," she instructed, 
but with each step, Plankton 
seemed to drift closer to sleep. 
His head bobbed, his eyelid 
fighting a losing battle against 
the siren's call of slumber.

"Plankton, stay with me," 
Karen urged, her voice a gentle 
reminder of the world around 
him. But his body had other 
ideas, his legs giving out 
under him. 
The nurse caught him, her laugh 
now a warm chuckle at his 
plight.

"It's the anesthesia," she 
explained. "It'll wear off 
soon. Just keep talking to him, 
it'll help keep him alert."

Karen nodded. "Look, Plankton," 
she said. "Can you see 
the little fishy?"

Plankton's eye snapped open, 
his antennae shooting up. "Fishy?" 
he repeated.

He took a few wobbly steps 
before his legs gave out 
once more, and he leaned 
heavily on the nurse. 
"Whoa, there," she said, 
steadying him with a laugh.
"We're almost to the car."

Plankton's antennae 
drooped, his eye half-closed 
again. "So... so tiwed," he 
mumbled.

"We're almost there," 
Karen assured.

The nurse opened the door 
to the waiting area. Plankton 
blinked slowly, his eyelid
drooping once again. The 
bright light from outside 
was like a siren's song, 
lulling him back into the 
depths of sleep.

"Come on, Plankton, stay 
awake," Karen encouraged.

But the world was spinning, 
and the siren's call of sleep 
was growing stronger. With 
each step closer to the car, 
his eyelid grew heavier, and 
his mind swam with a haze 
of disorientation. The floor 
beneath his feet felt like 
waves, and he stumbled again, 
his hand reaching out for 
support that wasn't there. 
"Keep talking," the 
nurse whispered to Karen, her 
eyes sparkling with 
amusement.

Karen took a deep breath, 
forcing her own laughter 
down. "Remember the time 
we found the treasure?" she 
asked, hoping to keep him 
alert. Plankton's antennae 
perked up slightly, his 
sluggish eye focusing on 
hers. "Tweasure?" he murmured.

The nurse nodded encouragingly, 
and Plankton took another step, 
his body swaying like a piece 
of kelp in the current. "Yeah," 
he mumbled, "the... the... 
goldy wobble." His words were 
slurred, his mind lost in 
the fog of the anesthesia.

They made it to the car, 
and Karen gently guided him 
into the passenger seat. She 
buckled him in, his body already 
slack with the weight of 
exhaustion. "Tell me more," 
she said, trying to keep 
his thoughts on the treasure 
they had found together, 
anything to keep his mind 
engaged.

But Plankton's eye weas 
closing again, his head lolling 
against the headrest. 
"Goldy... wobble... " he murmured, 
his words barely audible. "It's okay, 
sweetheart," Karen said, her voice 
soothing. "You can rest."

With a contented sigh, 
Plankton gave in to the 
warm embrace of slumber, 
his body going limp. Karen 
started the engine and drove 
carefully, her mind racing 
with the events of the day. The 
thought of her stoic husband, 
reduced to a slurring mess, 
was too absurd to fully 
comprehend. Yet, there was 
a tenderness in his vulnerability 
that made her love him all the 
more. 

new the mooon karenton karankton 2

3️

new three cardinal iii

｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆~ℓιℓℓу~⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

new haber three iii

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vii

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers,
shaking him lightly. "We're not
even to the parking lot yet!"

Plankton's eye opens. "Tish... tish...
Karen?" he mumbles, his voice
a sleepy whine. "Why we not... not
at home?"

Karen laughs, her voice a gentle
lullaby. "We will be soon," she
says, her grip on him firm but
caring. "Just stay with me a
little longer. Let's make our way
to the car; yea?"

But Plankton's eye is
already drooping. 
"Caw... car?"
he mumbles.

Karen nods, her smile
soft. "Yes, the car. We're
going home."

But Plankton's eyelid
flaps heavily, his gaze
unfocused. "Home... home,"
he repeats, his voice a
slurred echo. His head wobbles
against her shoulder, his
body slack.

Karen sighs, her
laughter mingling with the
slight exasperation in her voice.
"Just a bit more, Plankton,"
she whispers, patting his
back. "Stay with me. Let's stand
up now."

But Plankton's body is
already succumbing to the
warm embrace of sleep. His
eyelid flaps once, twice, before
his eye closes completely. He
slumps back into the chair,
snoring gently. Karen chuckles,
shaking her head. "Come on,"
she says, her voice a blend
of humor and patience.

With a sigh, she stands,
his weight still leaning on
her. "You need to wake up
for just a little bit more,"
she insists, her voice a mix
of playfulness and firmness.

But Plankton's snores are
already steady.
"Wake up," she whispers,
shaking him gently. "We
have to go."

His eyelid twitches,
his mouth moving in a
slight snore. "Home?" he 
mumbles.

Karen laughs softly, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Yes,
home," she repeats, her voice
a gentle prodding. "Let's go."

But Plankton's snores are
now a symphony of sleep. His
body sags, his head lolling to
the side, and Karen knows the
battle is lost. She looks to the
nurse, who nods in understanding.
"Let's get him to the car," she says,
her voice a whisper of amusement.

They lift him again, his arms
draped over their shoulders like a
tiny, uncooperative ragdoll.

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers
again, her voice filled with a mix
of humor and exasperation.
"We're almost there."

But Plankton's snores are a
testament to his deep slumber.
His head tips to the side,
his mouth hanging open. The
nurse's smile widens, and she
nods to Karen. "It's okay. He's
comfortable. We'll get him to
the car."

They manage to stand him up,
his legs wobbly as a newborn
deer's. Karen's arm is wrapped
around his waist. "Come on,
babe," she coaxes, her voice
laced with affection. "Walk with
me to the car. Wake up.."

But Plankton's snores are a
constant background noise,
his body swaying with the rhythm
of sleep. He opens his eye with
difficulty, his gaze unfocused.
"Wha... wha..."

Karen chuckles, her
arm tightening around him.
"Walk, Plankton," she whispers,
guiding his unsteady steps.
"You're doing so well."

But Plankton's body has
other ideas. His knees buckle,
and he sags against her, his
snores growing louder. "Wake
up, babe," she whispers, her voice
filled with affectionate
frustration. "You can't sleep
until we're in the car."

Plankton's head wobbles, his
eye half-opening. "But... buth...
I'm tiwed," he mumbles, his speech
still thick. "Tish... tish...
chair is... is... is so comfowt."

Karen laughs softly, her
patience unwavering. "You need
to wake up, sweetie," she
says, her voice a gentle prod.

But Plankton's snores are
the only response, his head
lolling to the side. His body
sags heavily against her.

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers,
a hint of a laugh in her voice.

But Plankton's only response
is a sleepy snore, his body
relaxing further against hers.

"Come on, Plankton," Karen
whispers, her voice a blend
of amusement and urgency.
"You're gonna need to get in
to our car."

Plankton's eye opens with
effort, his gaze unfocused.
"Caw... caw?" he mumbles,
his speech still a thick
slur.

Karen laughs softly, her arm
supporting his wavering body.
"Yes, car," she repeats, her voice
a gentle nudge. "We're going home."

But Plankton's eye droops closed
once more, his snores a soft
symphony of unconsciousness.
"Buth... buth... Karen," he mumbles,
his words barely audible.

Karen's laugh is a soft
whisper of affection. "You're
so sleepy," she says, her voice
a gentle reminder. She tightens
her grip on him, her arm
supporting his wavering frame.
"Just a few more steps."

But Plankton's snores are
a sweet lullaby, his body
heavy with slumber. His legs
barely move, his feet
dragging against the floor.
Karen's arm tightens, her
strength the only thing keeping
his body upright. "Wake up,"
she whispers, her voice
a soft caress. "Almost there."

Yet Plankton's only response
is a snort, his head rolling
back. Karen looks to the nurse.

"It's okay," the nurse whispers,
her smile warm. "Let's get him
to your car. He'll sleep it off."

They shuffle towards the
exit, Plankton's snores a soft
accompaniment to their quiet
steps. Karen's arms are tight
around his waist, her strength
the only thing keeping him from
sliding to the floor. His head
rolls back, mouth open, a soft
snore escaping him.

"Wake up, Plankton,"
Karen whispers, her voice
a gentle plea. "We're almost at
the car." The nurse holds the
door open for them.

Plankton's eyelid flaps
weakly, his mouth dropping
open with a snore. "Caw?"
he mumbles, his gaze unfocused.

"Almost, sweetie," Karen says, her
voice a blend of humor and
determination. She shifts his weight
slightly, her arm still supporting
his waist. "Just a few more
steps."

But Plankton's body is a
deadweight, his snores a
testament to his deep slumber.
His head tips back, mouth
open wide, and Karen can feel
his body going slack again.
"Wake up. We're so close."

But his only response is
another snore, his chest rising
and falling with the rhythm
of his sleep. Karen laughs
softly, her arm tightening
around him. "You're so
funny when you're sleepy,"
she whispers.

The nurse opens the
door to the car, but Plankton remains
deeply asleep. His snores echo
through the empty space,
his body a ragdoll in Karen's arms.

Karen tries to
rouse him once more. "Come on,
Plankton," she whispers, her voice
a soft coax. "Wake up."

But Plankton's snores are
a sweet symphony of exhaustion.
His head tips back, his mouth
open wide, and Karen feels his
body go limp again. She sighs
with affectionate exasperation.
"You're so stubborn," she murmurs,
his weight a testament to his deep sleep.

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore vii

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."

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore viii

me📱4️⃣

new mephone4 ii iii OBJECTSHOW

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES iii

The nurse's voice is calm as
she informs Dr. Finnegan that
his blood pressure is stable,
his oxygen levels good. The
monitors beep steadily, a lullaby
of safety amidst the cacophony
of surgical sounds.

With one final tug, the fourth
wisdom tooth gives way, and
Plankton's snoring remains a
steady crescendo in the background.
The doctor holds it up in
triumph, and Karen feels a weight
lift from her chest as the wisdom
teeth are disposed of. A trickle of 
drool starts to form at the corner 
of Plankton's mouth.

The assistant quickly moves in to
clean up the remaining debris,
his movements efficient and
precise. Plankton's snores
morph into something closer to
a gentle purr, his mouth open wide
and vulnerable, revealing the
now empty sockets where the teeth
once were.

Dr. Finnegan takes a step
back, wiping his brow with a
satisfied sigh. "Alright, that's
the last one," he says, looking
over at Karen. She lets out the
breath she's been holding, her
grip on Plankton's hand finally
loosening.

The nurse begins to clean
Plankton's mouth, the suction tool
humming as it removes blood
and excess saliva. His snoring
softens, turning into a gentle
purr that's almost endearing in
its vulnerability. Karen can't help
but feel a swell of love for
his unconscious form, even as
Dr. Finnegan's hands probe his
swollen gums.

The assistant starts to
stitch the incisions closed,
his movements swift and sure.
The sound of the needle
passing through Plankton's gums
makes Karen wince, but Plankton
doesn't flinch. He remains a
picture of peace, his snores
continuing their lulling rhythm.

The room's tension dissipates
as the final stitch is placed.
Dr. Finnegan steps back, a
satisfied look on his face as
he surveys his handiwork. "We're
almost done here," he says,
his voice calm and soothing.
The nurse begins to prepare
the recovery area, laying out
gauze and ice packs, as the
mouth prop is gently removed
from Plankton's mouth. His
snores become a little less
snuffly.

Karen leans in closer,
whispering, "You did so good,
babe," to him. The nurse chuckles
lightly. "He's a champ," she says,
applying pressure to the
gauze to stem the flow of
blood from the stitched sockets.

Dr. Finnegan nods in
agreement, his eyes on the
monitors. "Just a few more
minutes," he tells her, his voice
soft and reassuring.

"He'll be out of it for a
bit when he wakes up," Dr.
Finnegan says with a chuckle,
looking over at Karen. "The
anesthesia can make people
act a little... peculiar."

The nurse gently wipes
Plankton's mouth with a
moist cloth, his head lolling to
the side. Karen's heart is a
wild thing in her chest, but she
can't help the smile that tugs
at her lips.

"He might say some funny
things when he wakes up," Dr.
Finnegan says, his voice low
and amused. "The anesthesia
can do that."

The nurse nods in
agreement. "Don't worry, it's
completely normal. He might not
even remember most of it, or he
may just feel a bit loopy." Karen
smiles nervously, her mind racing
with all the funny scenarios
that could play out.

"But for now," Dr. Finnegan
says, patting Plankton's shoulder,
"he's going to keep sleeping
while we make sure everything
is all set."

The nurse administers a
final dose of anesthesia in
his gums to numb his
mouth to keep Plankton 
comfortable.

"When he wakes up,"
Dr. Finnegan says, his
gloved hands now free of
blood, "his mouth will be
a bit swollen, and he'll
probably be groggy. The
important thing is to keep
his head elevated and have
him use the ice packs to
reduce the swelling. And
don't let him eat anything
too solid for the next few
days. Soft foods only."

The nurse adds, "And if he
says anything strange or
does something unexpected, just
roll with it. It's the anesthesia
talking."

Karen nods, her mind racing
with the instructions, the
possibilities of Plankton's
anesthesia-induced ramblings.
He's always had a wild imagination,
so who knows what might come out
once the drugs kick in?

The nurse gently wipes Plankton's
face, catching the droplets of
drool that form at the corners
of his mouth. His snores turn
into a soft snuffle as his mouth
shifts with each breath.

Karen can't help but chuckle
softly at the sight, the tension of
the surgery giving way to the
comfort of knowing it's almost
over. Plankton's arm, still
numb from the I.V., hangs
loosely by his side. His chest
moves up and down in a deep,
steady rhythm, the only
indication of life amidst the
stillness of his body.

new wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore iii

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 23
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Karen rushes over, her screen
etched with concern. "Plankton,
sweetie..." Chip's screen
fills with alarm, his eyes darting
to his father's contorted form.
He's never seen him like this.
The sensory assault has
taken its toll, and Plankton
is paying the price.

Hanna's screen is a mask of shock,
her hand hovering over Plankton's
shoulder, unsure what to do.
"Neptune," she says,
her voice a whisper of concern.
The room's energy shifts, Plankton's
his body shivering with the
remnants of his meltdown. Karen
turns to Hanna.

"I'm sorry," Karen says, her
voice tight with the effort of
keeping her own anxiety in check.
"He's just not used to—"
But Hanna's face is a mask of
concern, her hand moving to
Plankton's own, unaware of his
autistic sensitivities, unaware of
being the cause of his distress.

Plankton's antennae droop, his
body hunched. The room is spinning,
his stomach churning. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice hoarse
with the effort of speaking.
"I need to go. Now!" But Hanna
insists on helping out.

"Oh no, are you okay?" she asks,
her hand moving to his back. The
contact sends a fresh wave
of nausea through him.

"Hanna, no," Karen says firmly,
stepping in. "Give him some space."
But Hanna doesn't understand 
the boundaries. "But he's sick!"
she protests, reaching out to
touch him again. Plankton
flinches away, his stomach
lurching.

"Hanna," Karen says again, her
voice stern. "Please, respect
his space." Hanna's hand
drops, her face a portrait
of confusion. "I'm sorry,"
she murmurs. But it's too late.
The janitor starts to clean up
as the school nurse, Vickie, follows.
Nurse Vickie gasps. "Let's all go to
my office!" She says, grabbing
Plankton's hand as Hanna follows
with Karen and Chip.

The hallways are a blur of faces
and colors, each step a battle
for Plankton. His legs wobble,
his body desperate to flee. The
touch of Hanna's hand was too
much, the sensory assault too great.
Now, in the fear of the
nurse's office, the world
spins around him, his stomach
a maelstrom of discomfort.

Nurse Vickie's office is big enough for
all of them, yet as the door closes behind
them, Plankton feels claustrophobic
and trapped. He's aware of every sound,
every smell, every sensation
that invades his space. Karen knows that
this isn't what he needs. "Nurse Vickie..."

Vickie is already fussing over him, her
hands moving too fast, her voice too loud.
"Don't worry, I've seen this before," she says,
completely oblivious to Plankton's autism.
Her touch is gentle but overwhelming,
each pat on his back a hammer to his
sensory overload. "You just sit here,"
she says, guiding him to a chair.
But Plankton can't sit, can't stay still.
He's like a caged animal, desperate for
his quiet space, for the comfort
of his sensory box. Tears stream down his
face, with pain and fear. He tries to stand.

"You need to sit down," Vickie insists. 
She doesn't see the panic in his
eye. She's just trying to help, to do
her job. But she doesn't know, doesn't
understand his needs.

"Nurse," Karen says, her voice firm.
"Plankton has aut-"

But Vickie cuts her off, her movements
quick and efficient. "I know what to do,"
she says, her voice too loud. Plankton's
antennas flinch. "Let me handle it."

He needs his space, his stims,
his quiet. But Vickie doesn't
understand. "Let me do my job."
Her hands are firm, her touch
not the gentle one he craves.
"Please," Karen says, her voice
sharp. "He needs space."
Vickie's eyes narrow. "Space
won't help him," she says, her
tone dismissive. "He's just
anxious. It's my job to calm
him down." Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body stiffening.
This isn't calming, this isn't right.
But her touch remains firm,
her movements unchanged.
"I'm a professional, ok..."

Plankton starts to rock back and forth,
his body's instinctual response, but
Vickie's eyes widen. "That's not
normal," she says. "You need to sit,"
she insists, holding him back
towards the chair.

Karen's face is a thundercloud,
but she keeps her voice steady. "No,
Nurse Vickie, that's his way of
calming down. He's..." "But that's not
what we do here," Vickie interrupts.

Plankton's stimming intensifies, his
body a whirlwind of motion. Each rock
against the chair a silent scream
for understanding, for the peace
his stims usually bring. But Vickie
doesn't see that. She sees a man
behaving oddly, a patient out of control.

Her voice pierces 
the air, "You need
to sit still! This
is for your own good," 
she says, her tone 
devoid of understanding.
"You need to sit down!
You need to trust me."

But Plankton's body
doesn't obey, his
stims a tornado
spinning out of control.
He feels like a caged
bird, fluttering wings
against invisible bars.
The chair is a trap,
a prison of plastic and metal,
and Vickie's hands are
chains holding him in place.
"I know what's best
for him," Vickie says, her grip
on Plankton's shoulders
tightening.

Karen's voice is a lifeline
in the storm. "Nurse, please,
his stims are his way
of coping," she explains.
But Vickie is unmoved.
"He's just being difficult,"
she says, her grip unyielding.
Plankton's eye widens.

The room is a tornado
of sensory input, Vickie's
hands like sandpaper on
his skin. He tries to pull away,
but she holds firm. "You
have to sit still!" she yells,
startling him into stillness.
His antennae droop, 
defeated. His eye
blinks back tears, his body
a tightly coiled spring. "You
need to learn discipline..."
"Ma'am," Karen says, her
tone tight as a bowstring.
"You're not helping. He's
born with a neurodisability."
But Vickie's expression is
closed, a wall of ignorance.
"This isn't a special
treatment center," she says,
her voice sharp. "This is
a school, and we don't tolerate
this kind of behavior.
You're just enabling him,"
she says, her voice a sneer.
"He'll never learn to
function in the real world
if you let him get away with this."

Karen's fists clench, her teeth
grind. "Function," she repeats,
as she helps up Plankton. "Is that all
he's good for? Functioning?
This is my husband you're
talking about." They decide to leave.

new autism and all vomitcore neurodisability

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."

new neurobehavioral plankton plankbobs viii

TRUTH AND NAIL iii

 Karen felt his weight
shifting, his body swaying
towards sleep again.
“Stay with me, Plankton,”
she murmured, her voice
a gentle prod to keep
his consciousness afloat.

He blinked, his eye
trying to focus on her face.
“Wha...?” he mumbled,
his words trailing off
like a forgotten melody.

Karen's tightened.
“You’re okay, Plankton,”
she whispered, her voice
a gentle caress in the
stillness of the room.
“You’re just tired from
the surgery, that’s all.”

But even as she
spoke, Plankton’s head
lolled to the side,
his mouth open slightly,
drooling. Karen reached over
and wiped it away, her
fingers coming back wet.

"It's normal
for them to nod off
like this," the nurse assured
Karen with a kind smile. “Let’s 
walk to your car..”

But as they shuffled
along, Plankton’s knees
buckled, and he slumped
against Karen, his mouth
falling open in a deep snore.
Her arms tightened around
his waist, her strength
supporting his sudden
weakness.

"Wha...?" Plankton mumbled,
his eye fluttering open,
his mind trying to catch up
with his surroundings.
"You okay?" Karen asked.

His head bobbed slightly,
nodding in sleepy agreement.
But as they shuffled closer
to the exit, his knees
buckled again, and he
was out cold.

Karen's grip tightened,
keeping him from collapsing.
The nurse chuckled softly,
"It's okay, Mrs. Plankton.
This happens a lot after
the anesthesia. Wake
up, Mr. Plankton.."

But Plankton's snores
only grew louder, his head
lolling onto Karen's shoulder.
Her laugh was a gentle
sigh as she looked at
his peaceful face, marred
only by the occasional
dribble of saliva.

"Come on, love," Karen
whispered, her voice a soft
nudge. "Let's get you to the car."
With the nurse's help, they
managed to make him 
stir in his sleep.

Plankton's eye cracked
open, his gaze unfocused
and glazed. "Karen?"
he murmured, his voice a
slurred whisper.

Her eyes searched his,
the love in them a beacon
in the starkness of the
hospital corridor. "You're okay,
sweetie," she said, her voice
a gentle reminder.

But Plankton's response
was a snore, his head
lolling forward again.
Karen's grip tightened,
his weight leaning heavily
on her. "Wake up, Plankton,"
she whispered, her voice a
caress in the air.

The nurse chuckled.
"It's just the anesthesia,"
she assured Karen. "Let's
get him to the car."
Plankton's eye
snapped open, his mind
fighting to wake up.

But each step was a
battle against the fog.
Karen's arms wrapped
around him, her grip
firm and loving. His legs
threatened to give out,
his knees like jelly,
but she held him upright.

"Come on, darling,"
she cooed, her voice a
beacon through the
haze. "Almost there."

They made it to the
car, Plankton's snores
filling the quiet
of the parking lot.
The nurse opened the
back door, and Karen
managed to get him
sitting upright, his head
lolling to one side.

"Wha...?" he mumbled,
his eye opening a crack.
"We're going home," Karen
soothed, her voice a soft
song. She fastened the
seatbelt around him,
his limbs heavy and
uncooperative.

As she drove, Plankton
fought to keep his eye
open, his head drooping
forward before jerking
back up with a snort.

"You okay back there?"
Karen called over her
shoulder, her eyes on the
road.

A faint snore was
his only reply, his
head lolling against
the headrest. She chuckled,
a mix of concern and
affection, her screen
flitting to the rearview
mirror. His mouth was
still open, a string of
drool connecting his
bottom lip to his chin.

Karen reached back,
carefully wiping it away
with a tissue. Plankton's
face twitched in his
sleep, but he remained
oblivious to her touch.
The car's gentle hum
lulled him further, his
snores punctuating
the silence of the drive.

new truth and nail sleepycore iii

NEW REALITY vii
(Autistic author)

She sleeps at her bed
next to his. The house is quiet,
except for the soft snores
coming from Plankton.

But both of their 
eyes snap open
at the sound of 
the doorbell.

Plankton's body tenses,
his hand shooting up to 
cover his head. Karen
moves quickly, her heart 
racing. She knows that 
sudden sounds can be
overwhelming for him.
"It's okay," she murmurs,
placing her hand over 
his. "Door," he says, his voice
still groggy from sleep.

Her eyes dart to the 
clock. It's early, much 
earlier than anyone would 
usually visit. "I'll go 
see who it is," she says, 
trying to keep her voice 
steady. "You stay here."

Plankton nods, his hand
dropping from his head
to clutch at the blanket.
"Stay," he whispers, his
voice tight with anxiety.

Karen's eyes fill with
concern. "I'll be right
back," she promises, her
voice soft. "Just stay here."

Plankton nods, his grip
on the blanket tightening.
"Stay," he repeats, his voice
less than a whisper.

Karen nods, her heart racing.
"I will," she whispers. "Just rest."

As she opens the door, she's
met with the cheerful face of
Hanna, her book club friend.
"Hey Karen, I hope I'm not too early!"
Hanna says, a word book in hand.

Karen's eyes widen, her heart
racing. "No, not at all," she says,
forcing a smile. "Come in."

Hanna steps into the house,
her eyes bright with excitement.
But as she sees Karen's 
expression, her smile falters.
"Is everything okay?" she asks,
concern etched on her face.

Karen nods, as Plankton
comes into the room, his gaze
fixed on the spinning fan.
"This is Plankton,"
Karen introduces, her voice
calm.

Hanna smiles. "Hi Plankton,"
she says, her voice too bright.

He nods, his gaze still
locked on the fan. "Fan spin,"
he murmurs.

Hanna's eyes widen, unsure
how to respond. Karen
quickly interjects. "Why
don't we take a look at the
work puzzle book.."

Plankton's gaze shifts, his
interest piqued by the
mention of books.

"Puzzles," he repeats,
his voice a bit clearer.

Hanna's smile relaxes,
seeing his interest. "Yes,
puzzles," she says, holding
up the book. "They're like
fun little brain teasers."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching out to touch the
book. Karen watches, her
heart racing. Will this
be another trigger?

But Plankton's gaze locks onto
the puzzle book, his eye
lighting up with curiosity.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
This could be good for him,
a way to focus his
whirling thoughts.

Hanna opens the book,
showing him a simple word search.
"See if you can find
the hidden words, Plankton,"
she says, her voice gentle.

His gaze scans the page,
his hand moving in time
with his eye. "Words," he murmurs,
his voice filled with excitement.

Hanna nods, her smile growing.
"That's right," she says, her
tone encouraging. "See if
you can find them all."

Plankton nods, his eye
quickly moving over the
page. Karen watches,
her heart swelling with hope.
This might be it, she thinks,
a new way to connect.

Hanna points to a word,
her voice soothing. "What's this?"

Plankton's hand moves over
the letters, tracing them.
"F-A-N," he reads, his
tone monotone. "Fan," he says,
his gaze flicking up to the
whirring object above.

Hanna laughs, misunderstanding.
"No, Plankton, not fan," she says,
pointing to the puzzle. "Find
the words that are hidden."

But Plankton's gaze remains on
the spinning blades. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice taking on a firm tone.

Hanna's smile falters, not
comprehending his 
meaning. "No, Plankton,"
she says, her voice still cheerful.
"Look at the puzzle."

But Plankton's gaze
doesn't waver from the fan.
"Fan," he says, his tone
firm, almost defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
her cheerfulness waning.
"Plankton," she says gently,
"it's a puzzle, not about
the fan."

But Plankton's gaze remains
fixed on the fan, his
body tensing. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice firm, almost
defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
uncertain of his meaning.
"It's just a puzzle, Plankton,"
she says gently, her voice
filled with misunderstanding.

But Plankton's tone sharpens.
"Fan," he insists, his voice
raised, his body tense.
"Fan spin, make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen with
surprise, her smile slipping
away. "It's not about the
fan, Plankton," she says,
her voice still kind but
concerned. "It's about..."

But Plankton's voice cuts
through the air, his tone
sharp. "Fan spin," he says,
his hand moving in
erratic patterns. "Fan make
quiet. Fan important."

Hanna's eyes widen,
taking a step back. "I didn't
mean..." she starts, but
Plankton's agitation is
growing.

"Fan important," he repeats,
his voice echoing in the quiet
room. Karen's heart races as
she tries to defuse the
situation.

"Hanna, it's okay," she says,
her voice calm but firm.
"The fan is special to Plankton.
It helps him feel calm."

But Hanna's confusion
only grows. "It's just a fan,
right?" she asks, her voice
pitching with uncertainty.

Plankton's voice rises, his
hands flailing. "No!" he yells.
"Fan special! Make quiet!
Must spin!"

Hanna's eyes widen with shock,
her cheerful demeanor evaporating.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know,"
she stammers, taking a step back.

Plankton's voice echoes,
his frustration palpable.
"Fan special!" he yells,
his hands slashing the air.

Hanna's smile has disappeared,
replaced by a look of fear.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
backing away slowly.

Karen's eyes are wide
with worry. She steps
between Hanna and Plankton,
trying to shield her friend
from his distress. "It's okay,
Hanna," she says, her voice
calm but firm. "Let's just
give him some space."

Hanna nods, her eyes
filled with apology.
"I didn't mean to upset him,"
she murmurs, setting the
puzzle book down on the
coffee table.

Karen nods, her gaze
on Plankton. "It's okay,"
she says softly. "He's just
overwhelmed."

Plankton's hands flap like
wings against his sides.
This is stimming, she knows,
his way of coping with
the sensory onslaught.

He rocks back and forth,
his gaze still on the fan.
Karen's heart aches as she
watches him, his body a
whirlwind of energy.

"Fan spin," he murmurs,
his hands fluttering like
butterfly wings. "Spin, spin."

Karen's eyes follow
his erratic movements,
her heart racing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and soothing. "Look at me."
He doesn't react, his gaze
still glued to the fan.

Karen approaches him,
moving slowly to avoid startling
his heightened senses. "Plankton,"
she repeats, her tone steady.

He doesn't react, his eye
still on the fan, his body
a flurry of movement.
Her heart racing, Karen tries again.
"The fan spins," she says, mimicking
his rhythmic speech.

Plankton's gaze flicks to her,
his body still. For a moment,
his movements cease.
"Spin," he whispers, his eye
searching hers.

Karen nods, understanding
his need for the fan's rhythmic
whirl. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle melody.
"The fan will spin."

Plankton's gaze shifts
from the fan to the digital clock
on the mantle. His eye widens
as he sees the seconds tick by,
restarting each minute.
The numbers, stark and
precise, seem to call to him,
a silent symphony of order
in a world gone haywire.

Hanna looks confused, for
Plankton's gaze shifts to the
digital clock, the seconds
ticking away in a silent
symphony. His hands stop
their erratic movements, his
body stilling as he watches
the precise dance of the
numbers.

Karen sees his fascination,
the way his eye tracks
each second as it passes.
"It's okay," she says softly.
"The clock will keep going."

But Plankton's gaze doesn't
shift. His body is still,
his mind lost in the rhythm
of the ticking digits.

Karen watches, her heart
racing. She's read about
how some with autism
find comfort in patterns,
how the predictability
of something as simple
as a digital clock
can be a lifeline in a
world that's otherwise
so chaotic.

Hanna, however, 
doesn't understand.
Her eyes go to Plankton, her
confusion growing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
still too bright, "it's just a clock."

His eye snaps to her, his
body rigid with tension. "Clock
important," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear. "Numbers
change."

Hanna's smile fades, her eyes
widening with confusion. "It's
just a clock, Plankton," she says,
trying to placate him. But her
words only serve to stir his
distress further.

Plankton's eye darts from the
clock to Hanna, his breath
coming in quick bursts. "No,"
he whispers, his voice tight.
"Clock important. Numbers change."

Hanna's smile is gone, her
expression one of confusion.
"It's just a way to tell time,"
she says, her voice shaking.
But Plankton's agitation is
building, a storm gathering
behind his eye.

"No," he whispers, his hand
trembling as it points to
the clock. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her
understanding still elusive.
"But Plankton," she starts,
"it's just a way to keep track
of time."

But Plankton's gaze is
intense, his voice urgent.
"No, no, no," he says, shaking
his head. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's voice rises, her
confusion thick. "But it's
just a clock, Plankton,"
she repeats, her words
falling on deaf antennae.

Plankton's body is tight
as a spring, his gaze
locked on the digital
dance. "No," he whispers,
his voice strained. "Numbers
make quiet, chronologically."

Hanna's eyes dart between
Plankton and Karen, her
confusion thick. 

new new reality hannacore vii

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 new reality Karen the Computer iii

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."

new chip on the shoulders shockfic viii

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vii
(Autistic author)

Gently, she helped 
Plankton to his feet. He 
swayed slightly, his legs 
weak from the seizure. 
"Let's go to your room,"
she suggested, her 
arm around his waist.

They moved slowly, 
his steps cautious. Karen 
could feel his tension 
easing as they left 
the chaos of the living 
room behind. Plankton 
was still silent, 
twitching slightly with 
every new sound they 
encountered.

In the quiet of 
his bedroom, Karen 
helped him sit on the bed. 
"Rest," she said softly. 
"You're safe here."

Plankton nodded, 
his antennae drooping. 
"Safe," he mumbled.

Karen felt a 
wave of protectiveness 
wash over her as she 
tucked him into bed, 
his small frame looking 
even more vulnerable 
than ever. She 
knew she had to speak 
to Chip, to explain 
everything.

With a heavy heart, 
she made her way to 
his room. The door was 
ajar, and she could see 
his form huddled 
on his bed, tears 
staining his screen. 
He looked up as she 
entered, his eyes red 
from crying.

"Chip," she began, her 
voice gentle. "I need to 
talk to you about 
Dad."

Chip sniffled, 
wiping his screen with the 
back of his hand. "What's 
wrong with him?" he 
asked, his voice 
hoarse with emotion.

Karen sat on the 
edge of his bed, 
taking a deep 
breath. "Dad's had 
a bit of an accident, 
sweetie," she began. 
"He's okay, but he's 
going through 
something called 
autism. He'll have it
for the rest of his
life, yet we're still
finding ways to
manage.."

Chip's eyes widened 
in shock, and he 
swiped at his 
tears. "What's 
autism?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
preparing to explain. 
"It's like a different 
kind of brain wiring, 
Chip. Sometimes, 
it makes things 
that seem simple 
to us really hard 
for Dad to understand 
or do."

Chip's brow furrowed 
in confusion. "Does 
that mean he won't be 
the same?"

"No, it doesn't mean 
he won't be the same 
person," she said 
gently. "But it does mean 
that we'll have to 
make some changes 
to help him feel 
comfortable and safe. 
Dad will need extra patience, 
and we'll have to learn 
new ways to communicate.
He still has memories of his
life before, though."

Chip looked at 
his mother with 
uncertainty. "How 
can we help him?"

Karen took his hand 
in hers, feeling the 
warmth of his small 
fingers. "Well, Chip, 
we have to be very 
understanding," she 
explained. "Dad might 
react differently to 
things now, like 
noises or touch."

Chip nodded, his 
expression earnest. 
"So I can't hug him 
like that anymore?"

"Not like you did 
just now," she said. 
"But we'll find ways to 
show love without 
overwhelming him."

Chip nodded with 
newfound determination. 
"Okay," he said, his voice 
small. "I'll try."

Karen felt a 
surge of pride. Despite 
his young age, Chip 
was showing a maturity 
beyond his years. "That's 
my brave boy," she said, 
squeezing his hand. "Good
night.."

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton feels a
wave of self-consciousness
crash over him. He's always
been different, and now
his son is seeing him at
his most vulnerable.
He doesn't look at
Chip, focusing instead on the
ceiling above.

Chip stares at him, his
face a mix of confusion
and concern. "Dad, are 
you o..."

But Plankton snaps, cutting
his son off with a harsh
tone that slices through
the tension in the room.
"The show's over, Chip; you
can leave now!"

Chip's eyes widen in shock,
his screen flushing with a
mixture of embarrassment
and hurt. He had never
seen his father like this
before. Karen intervenes gently.

"Chip, your dad's just tired.
Why don't you go play in
your room for a bit?"
Her voice was calm, but
there was a firmness that
Chip knew meant business.

He nodded, feeling the weight
of the situation settle on his
small shoulders. As he turned to leave,
his gaze caught the sadness
in his father's eye, a look
that seemed to apologize
without words.

The door clicked shut
behind him, and the silence
was deafening. Chip sat on
his bed, his mind racing with
thoughts about his father.

He knew Plankton was different,
but seeing him like that... it was
like looking at a robot that
suddenly turned off. It was
scary, but also fascinating.
He had so many questions,
but his mother's words echoed
in his mind: "Give him some space."
He'd have to be extra careful
around his dad from now on.

Back in their own room,
Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm.
"I'm sorry, Plankton," she murmured.
"I know it's hard for you."

His eye searched hers,
filled with a quiet desperation.
"It's not your fault," he rasped,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's just... sometimes it's too much."

Karen's gaze softened, and
she leaned in to press a gentle
kiss to his forehead. "I know,"
she whispered, her thumb
continuing its soothing
motion on his arm. "We'll get
through it together."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and he took
a shaky breath. "I'm sorry,"
he murmured, his voice
still hoarse from his
self-imposed silence. "I know
it's scary for you, for Chip."

Karen's eyes remained
on his, filled with love and
understanding. "You have
nothing to apologize for,"
she said firmly. "You're doing
the best you can."

Plankton managed a
weak smile, his body slowly
starting to uncoil from the tight
knot it had formed during
his shutdown. Karen's gentle
touch was like a warm blanket,
wrapping him in a cocoon of
comfort.

"Thank you, Karen," he
whispered, his voice still
shaky. "I'm just so tired."

Karen nodded, her hand
never leaving his arm.
"You've had a long day,"
she said, her voice a soothing
balm. "Why don't you rest
a bit?"

Plankton nodded, his
energy depleted. He
managed to get himself into
a lying position, the bed
creaking beneath him. Karen
pulled the covers over him,
tucking him in.

Her voice was a lullaby
in the quiet room. "Close
your eye, Plankton. Take
deep breaths. I'm here."
Her hand remained on his
arm, her thumb tracing
the same comforting pattern.

Plankton's breaths grew
even, his body slowly
relaxing into the mattress.
The tightness in his chest
eased with each exhale, and
his antennae drooped slightly
as he succumbed to his body's
needs for rest. Karen watched
over him, her screen never
straying from his face.

"Rest, love," she whispered,
the words carrying a gentle
lilt of reassurance. She knew
the battle he faced every day,
how hard he tried to fit into
a world that didn't quite
understand him. She felt a
surge of admiration for his
strength and resilience.

new chip on the shoulders Chip Plankton II iii

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.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii viii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vii
(By NeuroFabulous)


"Chip," he began, his voice
cracking. "I have something
important to tell you."

Chip leaned forward,
his heart racing. "What is it,
Dad?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his eyes
meeting his son's with a
meld of love and apprehension.
"I'm autistic," he said, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Chip thought back to what his mom
had told him about his father's
unique way of being born, and
how it had affected his brain.

He remembered the awe in
his mother's voice as she recounted
the story of Plankton's
birth, the way she'd
spoken with a mix of wonder
and sorrow. It was a lot to take in,
but it made him feel closer to
his father somehow.

"Dad?" Chip's voice
was tentative, his hand
still hovering over
his father's arm. "What's a...
coffin birth?"

Plankton's antennae
stilled, his eye flicking
to Karen's. She gave a
tiny nod, understanding
the need for honesty.

"It's a rare event, Chip,"
Plankton began, his voice
steadier now. "It's when a
baby is born after their
mother has... passed away."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, trying to make
sense of the words. "But how?"

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
flattening slightly. "The
doctors had to be... quick,"
he said, his voice filled
with awe. "They knew I was
still alive, and they did
everything they could to get me
out."

Chip's eyes grew even
wider, his imagination
running wild. "But Dad,
how does that even work?"
he whispered, his voice filled
with wonder and horror.

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's... it's a
difficult thing to explain,
Chip," he said, his voice
strained. "But basically,
when a mom's body isn't
alive anymore, but the baby's
heart is still beating, the
doctors do an emergency
procedure to get the baby out."

Chip's eyes were like
saucers, his mind racing.
"But how is that possible?"
he whispered, his voice
barely audible.

Plankton sighed, his
antennas drooping slightly.
"The doctors try to induce labor
in mum's body after she...
after she's gone," he said,
his voice strained with the
difficulty of the memory.
"It was a delicate process,
and not always successful. In
my birth, there was a moment
where my brain didn't get enough
oxygen," he murmured. "When I
was still inside mum."

Chip's unsure
how to react. "And
how'd it give you autism?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his gaze
dropping to the bed. "Well,
it's something that
can happen when a baby's brain
doesn't get enough oxygen
during birth, Chip," he said,
his voice quiet. "It's like
a... hypoxic-ischemic event.
It can lead to... complications.
For me, it was autism."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering over his
father's arm. "But how did
your mum... die?" he asked, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae
drooped further, his gaze
going distant. "It was an
accident," he murmured. "Her
heart... it just stopped.
Bled out, the doctors said."

Chip's hand hovered
over his dad's arm,
his mind racing with the
implications. "But why?"

Plankton took a moment,
his antennae flicking slightly.
"It's complicated, Chip.
My mum... she had a rarity.
Her heart was
weak, and it couldn't handle
the stress. It went undiagnosed
back then."

Chip's hand hovered
still, his heart breaking
for his dad. "But Dad,
why didn't anyone know?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze going
to the floor. "They did,
eventually," he murmured.
"But by then, it was too late.
My mum was gone."

Chip's eyes filled with
sympathy, his hand
resting on the bed. "I'm
sorry, Dad," he whispered.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his gaze meeting
his son's. "It's okay, Chip.
It's not something you
could've known. I obviously
didn't know her to well, but
thank you."

Karen was glad to see
them connecting. "So
Chip, you can ask us
questions if you want."

Chip looked from Karen
to Plankton, his curiosity
piqued. "Dad, is there
anything you really hate
that makes you have these...
shutdowns?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously, his eye darting
between them. "Well, Chip,
it's not always just one thing. It's
mostly like... a buildup.
Loud noises, too many people,
bright lights," he listed off.
"They can all make it
harder for me to focus, to
filter out the extra stuff
my brain's taking in."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's face.
"What about touch?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "Does it
bother you?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze flicking to
Karen's comforting hand.
"It depends," he said slowly.
"Some days, I crave it. Other
days, it's too much."

Chip nodded, his mind
racing. "What about hugs?"
he asked, his voice hopeful.
"Does it help you feel better?"

Plankton's antennae
quivered, his eye searching
his son's face. "Sometimes,"
he said, his voice tight. "But
not always."

Chip nodded, his
hand still hovering. 
"Can I... ca--"

Plankton's antennae shot
up, his eye widening. "No!"
The suddenness
of his reaction made
Chip's hand jerk 
back, his eyes
wide with shock.

"I'm sorry, buddy,"
Plankton said, his voice
softening as he saw the
fear in his son's eyes.
"It's just that, sometimes,
hugs are too much. I need...
space, like I told you. But only
if I know they're coming, and
only from people I trust. I'm
still recovering right now."

Chip's hand hovered in the
air, unsure of what to do.
"Can I... I don't know, maybe
just pat you on the shoulder?"
he asked, his voice hopeful. But
Plankton shook his head.

"No, Chip," he murmured. "I do
not want my shoulders to be
patted. That's too much."

Chip nodded, his gaze
on Plankton's. "How about a
high five?" he asked, his
hand still hovering.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, his eye
narrowing as he considered
his son's question. "Maybe,"
he murmured. "But only if
you're gentle."

Chip nodded eagerly, his hand
slowly descending towards
his dad's hand. He hovered
for a moment, his heart racing.
Then, with all the gentleness
he could muster, he tapped his
father's hand with his fingertips.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, but
his eye remained focused
on Chip's. "Good job,"
he murmured, his voice
a quiet praise. "That was...
perfect."

new chip on the shoulders childbirthcore vii

CHIP IN MY BOX iii
(Autistic author)

"What's in the box?"
Chip asks again, his voice
steadier than he feels.

Plankton's eye bulges, his
fists tighten around the
box. "You're going to
make me show you?"
He snarls, his voice low and
dangerous.

Chip nods, his curiosity
now a raging inferno that
overpowers his fear.
"Yes," he whispers, his voice
shaking.

The room seems to hold
its breath as Plankton's grip
on the box tightens. His knuckles
turn white with the effort of
not flinging it open, of not
revealing whatever dark secret
it holds. Chip's heart thunders
in his chest, his eyes never
leaving the box.

"Fine," Plankton growls, his
voice low and dangerous. "If you
have to know, I'll show you."
He opens the box, and the
tension in the room snaps
like a rubber band.

Chip leans in, his heart racing
with a mix of excitement and
apprehension. Inside, there's a
variety of sensory apparatus, and a few
other odds and ends.

"It's... it's just stuff," he
stammers, not quite grasping
why his dad had reacted so
strongly. Plankton's chest
heaves, his face red with anger.
"It's not just stuff!" he yells,
slamming the box shut. "It's
private, it's mine, it's none
of your business!"

Chip's eyes water, the
sting of his father's words
cutting deep. He's never seen
his dad like this, so out
of control. He takes another
step back, his curiosity
now overshadowed by fear.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"You just what?" Plankton's
tone is like ice. "You just
have to know everything, don't you?
You can't leave well enough alone!"
He stands, the box clutched in his
hand, the knuckles still white.

Chip's eyes dart to the
closed box, then back to
his father's furious face.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, his
voice small. "I just wanted to
help." But his apology seems
to fall on deaf ears.

Plankton's anger is a living,
breathing thing in the room,
swirling around them like a
tornado of unspoken words.
"You don't help," he spits out.
"You never do. You just make
things worse." His eye bore
into Chip's, the accusation
stinging like a slap.

Chip's bottom lip quivers
as he tries to understand
his father's fury. His eyes
flit to the sensory box,
now closed with a finality
that feels like the slamming
of a door. "But why can't I
help?" he whispers, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's
wrath.

Plankton's eye narrows,
his voice a low growl. "You
don't know what you're asking."
He turns away, his shoulders
hunched, the weight of his
secret heavy on his shoulders.

Chip feels his cheeks
wet with unshed tears, but he
can't stop. "What don't I know?"
He asks, his voice trembling.
"What's so bad about the box?"

Plankton whips around, his
face a twisted mask of anger
and pain. "It's not about the
box, you little brat!" he yells.
"It's about respecting my
space!" He slams the box
down on the table, causing
the contents to rattle. "You
never think before you act,
always poking your nose where
it doesn't belong!"

Chip's eyes widen, the
realization dawning that
his curiosity has crossed
a line. He takes a tentative
step back, his voice shaking.
"Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to-"

"Mean to what?" Plankton
interrupts, his voice a
whip crack in the tense silence.
"Mean to invade my privacy?
Mean to make me feel like
a freak?" His hand slams
on the table, the box jumping
under the impact.

Chip's eyes widen with
understanding, and his
stomach drops. He hadn't
meant to make his dad feel
that way. "No, I..."
he starts, but Plankton
doesn't let him finish.

"Just go to your room!"
Plankton's voice is a thunderous
wave, crashing over Chip's
apology. "You've done enough
damage for one day."

The hurt in Chip's eyes
deepens, but his curiosity
doesn't waver. He goes
to open the box..

"What could be so bad?"
Chip asks, his voice
smaller now, his hand
trembling as he reaches
for the box's latch.

Plankton's eye widens
in horror, his anger a
volcano about to erupt.
"Chip, no!" Karen's
voice is a desperate
plea, but her son's need
to know is too strong.

The box's latch clicks
open, and Chip's hand
freezes in mid-air as
his eyes land on the
contents within: a collection
of small, seemingly random
objects, each with a specific
purpose to soothe and
comfort Plankton in his
moments of distress.

Plankton's anger boils over,
his face reddening as he
watches his son's curiosity
expose his most private
weakness. "You had to see
for yourself, didn't you?" he says,
his voice low and venomous.

Chip's hand hovering over
the open box, the sensory
items laid bare before him.
He looks up, his eyes wide
with a mix of fear and
understanding. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
shaking.

But Plankton's anger is a
tidal wave that can't be held
back. "You're always sorry,"
he snarls, his eye flashing
with a rage that makes Chip's
heart pound in his chest.
"But it's never enough, is it?"
He grabs the box, his hand
shaking with the force of his
emotions.

Chip's curiosity turns to
regret as he sees the pain
his questions have caused.
He takes a step back, his
hands up in a defensive
posture. "I didn't me—"
But Plankton isn't listening,
his rage a living entity in
the room. "Get out!"
He roars, his voice shaking
the walls. "I don't want to
see you right now!"
Tears spill down Chip's
cheeks as Karen intervenes.

"Chip, go to your room,"
she says, her voice shaking
but firm. Plankton's
anger is a storm that's
been brewing for too long,
and she's afraid of where
this could lead.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving the box. He feels a
heavy weight in his chest,
his curiosity now a burden.
Slowly, he turns and heads
upstairs, his feet dragging.

Karen watches him go,
her heart aching. She turns
to Plankton, her eyes
pleading. "Honey, maybe we
should talk to him," she says,
her voice shaky. But Plankton's
glare silences her.

He slams the box shut
and storms out of the
room, leaving Karen alone
with her racing thoughts.
Should they have told Chip
earlier? Would it have
made a difference?

new chip in my box chip plankton ii iii

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.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous viii

CHIP IN MY BOX vii
(Autistic author)


Dr. Kelp's tentacles move
quickly, setting out a new set
of sensory items. He places
the velvet curtain over Plankton's
head, creating a safe, quiet
space. The weighted blanket
is laid gently over his body,
his breathing starting to even
out. The doctor's eyes are
filled with a quiet wisdom
that Karen finds reassuring.

The octopus then turns his
attention to Chip, his tentacle
gently stroking the boy's arm.
"It's okay," he repeats, his
voice a calming lullaby in
the tense room. "We all make
mistakes."

Karen's eyes are glued to
Plankton, his body still and
silent under the velvet curtain.
Fear and regret are a heavy
weight on her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispers to
Dr. Kelp, her voice trembling.
"We should have told him
sooner." She watches as the
doctor works, his tentacles
deftly placing items around.

"When Plankton wakes up,"
Dr. Kelp says, his voice low
and soothing, "he might be
disoriented, upset." He looks
up at Chip, his eyes gentle.
"It's important to give him
space, let him know it's safe."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving her husband's still
form. She knows the routine,
but hearing it from Dr. Kelp's
lips somehow makes it feel
more real, more manageable.

"When he wakes," the doctor
continues, "he may be
confused, overwhelmed." His
voice is soft, his eyes
compassionate. "He might
not immediately be able
to process what happened."

Karen nods, her hand
trembling slightly. "What
do you mean?" She asks,
desperation lacing her
voice.

Dr. Kelp takes a deep
breath, his tentacles
arranging the items with
precision. "When Plankton
comes to," he says, "his senses
may be overstimulated, not knowing
what's happening around him."
He looks at Chip, his eyes
serious. "It's important
you don't take it personally. He
may incoherently talk, forget or
lash out. It's his brain's way of
trying to make sense of the
sensory overload."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "We'll be
ready," she says, her voice
determined. She doesn't want
to scare Chip, but he needs
to know. "We'll help him
through it."

Dr. Kelp looks at the
both of them, his gaze
softening. "Good," he says.
"Because he's going to need
you." His tentacles
flatten against the floor
as he leans closer to
Plankton, checking his pulse.
"When he wakes up, keep your
voices low, and keep the lights
dim. Try to limit any sudden
movements."

He demonstrates with a
slow, deliberate wave of his
tentacle. "And if he seems
scared or confused, just
tell him it's okay, that he's
safe," he instructs, his voice
calm and steady. "Remember, he
might not recognize anything at first.
His mind will be trying to piece
together what happened, as if in
a dream."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
Chip clutches the indestructible
fidgets in his small hands, his
face a mask of determination.

"When he wakes up," Dr. Kelp
continues, his eyes on the
floor, "his reactions may seem
unpredictable. Sometimes, he
might get scared, other times
he might be agitated." His tentacle
flicks slightly, a subtle sign of
his own tension. "It's all part
of his brain trying to recalibrate."

He looks up at Chip, his
expression serious. "Your dad's
going to need you to be brave,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If he
doesn't know you at first,
don't be scared. Just stay calm
and keep talking to him."

Chip nods, his eyes
glistening with tears. "I'll do
anything," he says, his voice
tiny but firm.

Dr. Kelp gives a small
smile, his tentacle patting
Chip's shoulder. "That's all
we can ask," he says.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vii

TOOTH AFTERNOON iii

Karen chuckled. Despite his current
state, she was just happy
he was out of pain. She sat
back in her chair, watching him
sleep and planning their quiet
afternoon at home. Ice cream,
his favorite blanket, and a
marathon of their favorite show.

The doctor returned, his
expression one of understanding.
“He’ll be out of it for a
little while longer. But we can
discharge him now if you’re
ready to take him home,” he said,
his voice a calm assurance.

Karen nodded, her smile
tired but still present. “Thank
you, doctor. I think we’re ready,”
she replied, her voice a soft
acknowledgment of the journey
that had only just begun.

The doctor gave her a nod
of understanding, his gaze
softening. “Alright, let’s get
you both home. I’ll go grab the
gauze for his mouth,” he
said, turning to leave the room.

Karen nodded, her eyes
still on Plankton’s sleeping
form. She felt a mix of
relief and exhaustion wash
over her. The surgery was over,
but the real challenge was just
beginning: navigating Plankton’s
recovery.

The doctor returned with
a small bag of supplies and
instructions. “Make sure he
doesn’t chew on anything too
hard, and keep the gauze in to
soak up the bleeding. He’ll be
on a soft diet for a few days.
Lots of rest, and no strenuous
activities, okay?” he said, his voice
kind and professional. “Now let’s 
get some gauze in.”

Karen watched as the doctor
carefully placed the gauze in
Plankton’s mouth.
Would he wake up? Would he
panic? But Plankton remained
asleep, his breathing steady.
The nurse offered a gentle pat
on the shoulder. “You’re a trooper,
Mr. Plankton,” she said, her voice
a soft whisper of encouragement.

The doctor turned to Karen,
his expression a blend of
pride and fatigue. “You’ve
both done well today. He’s ready
to go home, but make sure to
follow the instructions I gave
you. No chewing, no crunchy
foods, and keep that gauze in place.
Call us if you have any
concerns, okay?”

Karen nodded, her smile
grateful. “Thank you, doctor.
We really appreciate it,” she
said, her voice a soft echo of
the beeps that surrounded them.

With a gentle touch, Karen
shook Plankton’s shoulder.
“Wake up, Plankton. Time to go
home,” she whispered, her voice
a soothing lullaby to rouse him
from his anesthesia-induced slumber.

Plankton’s eye cracked open,
his gaze unfocused. “Whathapennin’?”
he mumbled, his tongue a thick
obstacle in his mouth.

Karen’s smile was a warm
reassurance. “It’s time to go
home, sweetie. The surgery’s all
over,” she whispered, her voice
like a gentle breeze.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts a tangled mess.
“Home?” he murmured, his mouth
moving awkwardly around the
gauze.

Karen nodded, her smile a
beacon in the sterile room.
“Yes, Plankton. We’re going
home now. The doctor says
you can go if you’re feeling okay,”
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the world waiting
outside.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts slowly coming into
focus. “Home?” he repeated,
his voice still thick with sleep.

Karen nodded, her smile a warm
embrace. “Yes, we’re going home.
The surgery is done, and the doctor
says you’re okay to leave. Can you
stand up for me?” she asked, her
tone a gentle coax.

Plankton’s body moved with the
sluggishness of a marionette.
He pushed himself up, his legs wobbly
like gelatin. Karen helped him to
his feet, her arm a sturdy pillar
under his. The room spun, and
his eye searched for a focal
point. “Wheh…” he murmured,
his mind a foggy mess.

Karen’s grip was firm, her voice
steady. “Take it slow, Plankton.
You’re ok, just a bit wobbly.
We’re going home now,” she said,
guiding him towards the door.

Plankton’s steps were shaky, his
legs unsure beneath him. The
world outside the recovery room
was a blur of faces and colors,
but Karen’s was the only one
that made sense. She led him
to the car, her arm a warm
security around his waist.

The cool air hit him like a
wave, his skin prickling as
his mind swam with the sudden
shift from the clinical calm
of the dentist’s office to the
bustling chaos of the parking lot.
“Walk with me, love,” Karen said,
her voice a gentle guide in the
storm of his disorientation.

Plankton’s feet shuffled
forward, his movements mechanical
as Karen led him to their car.
The brightness of the afternoon
sun was a stark contrast to
the sterile fluorescence of the
recovery room, making him squint.
He felt like a newborn fawn,
his legs wobbly and unsteady.

With Karen’s guidance, Plankton
managed to get into the passenger
seat, his body sinking into the
softness with a sigh of relief.
The car door clicked shut,
sealing them into a cocoon of
quiet comfort. Karen climbed
behind the wheel, her movements
efficient and familiar as she
adjusted the mirrors and started
the engine. The world outside
their bubble grew fuzzier as
they drove away from the
dental clinic, the hum of the tires
lulling Plankton into a
semi-lucid state.

He leaned his head against
the cool window, watching the
trees and buildings blur past.
“Wheh...awe we...going?” he slurred,
his voice a sleepy echo.

Karen’s smile was a warm
comfort. “Home, Plankton. We’re
going home so you can rest
and heal. You’ve had a big
day, haven’t you?” she said, her
voice a gentle reminder of the
journey behind them.

Plankton’s nod was a sleepy
affirmation. “Yeah...big...day,” he
mumbled, his eye drooping
closed again, his head
lolled to the side.

“So, sweetie, what’s the first
thing you want to do when we
get home?” she asked, her voice
a gentle prod to keep him
engaged.

Plankton’s mouth moved
slowly, his thoughts a thick
sludge. “Ish...cweam?”

Karen’s laugh was a soft
symphony. “Ice cream, yes. As
soon as we get home and you’re
comfortable, you can have all
the ice cream you want. I’ve got
your favorite flavor waiting for
you in the freezer,” she said, her
voice a sweet promise.

Plankton’s eye lit up with
the mention of ice cream, a
tiny spark of excitement in the
sea of confusion. “Fishy...flaver?”
he mumbled, his mouth still
numb.

Karen chuckled, her voice
warm and loving. “Chocolate,
Plankton. Your favorite chocolate
chip cookie dough. I know you’ll
love it,” she assured him. She was ready to
play nurse, chef, and entertainer
all rolled into one.

Plankton’s head lolled
to the side, the gauze in his
mouth a stark white against
his pale cheek. His eye
flits open and closed, the world
a mosaic of colors and shapes
as they drove.

new tooth afternoon tripcore iii

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.

new plush one comfortfic viii

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vii
(By NeuroFabulous)

Chip listened intently, his heart
heavy with the realization that
his father's world was so much
more complex than he had ever
imagined. "What do I do..."

"When you see those signs," Karen
said, her voice filled with patience
and love, "you need to give him
space. Sometimes, the best thing
you can do is just be there for him,
without expecting anything in return."

Chip nodded, his eyes still
swollen with tears. "But what if he
needs help?" he asked, his voice
small.

Karen's expression was a mix
of love and concern. "If he's
having a seizure, it's important
to keep him safe," she said, her
tone serious. "Make sure there's
nothing around that he could
hurt himself on, and don't try to move
him unless he's in danger." She
paused, taking a deep breath. "And
never put anything in his mouth.
It can be really scary to watch,
but he'll come out of it, I promise."

"How will I know if it's a
seizure?" Chip's voice was
shaky, fear gripping him.

Karen took a deep breath, her
expression turning serious. "If he
just stops talking or moving
suddenly, and his eye glazes over,
it's probably a seizure," she said,
her voice calm and measured.
"Sometimes he'll stare off into
space, or his body might get really
stiff for a moment." She paused,
squeezing his hand. "But remember,
his brain is just taking a little
vacation, okay? And if he convulses
or starts to fall, you have to catch
him and guide him to the floor
safely. It's really important that
he doesn't get hurt."

Chip's eyes were wide with fear,
but he nodded, determined to be
there for his dad. "What if..."

"If it's a bigger seizure,"
Karen said, her tone gentle but firm,
"you'll know. His whole body might
shake, and he could fall to the floor."
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"If that happens, you 
need to stay calm.
Alert me, and make
sure he's in a safe 
place where he
won't hurt himself."

With a nod, Chip tried
to absorb the information, his
stomach churning with a mix
of fear and determination.
He didn't want his dad to go
through that alone. "Okay,"
he murmured.

Karen gave his hand a final
squeeze before releasing it. "Why don't
we check on him?" she suggested,
her voice tentative. "Let's see
if he's ready to talk."

They approached 
the bedroom.
"Remember, sweetie," 
she whispered.
"Let him set the pace."

The door was ajar, 
letting a sliver of light
spill into the hallway.
Through it, Chip could see
his father, still sitting on the
edge of the bed, his antennas
slumped in defeat. The room was
quiet, save for the faint sound of
his father's shallow breaths.

Karen knocked gently, her
voice soft. "Plankton?"

There was a moment of
silence before they heard a
sniffle. "Come in," Plankton's
voice was barely audible.

Karen pushed the door open,
letting Chip step in first.

Plankton's single eye was red
and swollen from crying, and he
was clutching a worn pillow to
his chest while rocking in place.

Karen's heart ached at the sight
of her husband's distress, but
she knew better than to rush in.
Instead, she gave Chip a gentle nod,
encouraging him to go first.

Chip took a tentative step
forward, his eyes on Plankton's
small frame. He had never
seen his dad so vulnerable before,
his usual bravado and strength
nowhere to be found.

Plankton looked up at him, his
eye searching, his antennas drooping.
For a moment, the room was
so quiet that Chip could hear his own
heart pounding in his chest.

With a deep breath, he
moved closer, his heart racing.
He knew he had to fix this, to somehow
make it right. "Dad," he began, his voice
shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

Plankton's gaze was unreadable,
his antennas lying flat against his
head. "You don't get it," he murmured,
his voice thick with emotion. "You'll
never get it."

The words stung Chip, but he knew
his dad wasn't mad at him. It was
frustration, a feeling Plankton struggled
to express without it coming out as anger.
He took another step closer, his eyes
locking with Plankton's. "I want to,"
he said, his voice earnest. "I want
to understand you, Dad."

Plankton's antennas twitched, a
small sign that he had heard, that
he was processing the words.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous vii

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."

new plush one learncore iii

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

With grace of a dancer, Chip 
slides into the bed beside
his dad, his movements calculated
and precise. Each inch closer feels
like a victory, a step to
reconciliation. He's careful not
to disturb. His hand reaches
for Plankton's, his touch a
whisper in the quiet.

Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic.
Chip swells with hope, clutches the
hand tightly, feeling the
strength in the slender fingers.
It's a silent declaration of love,
an unspoken apology.

Karen watches, her screen
shimmering with unshed tears.
The sight of her son and
husband finding their way
back to each other fills her
heart with a warmth that
chases the shadows from the
room. She knows this isn't a
moment to interrupt, so she
simply observes, her hand
on Chip's back in silent
support.

Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets
his body mold to the warmth
of his dad's side. The scent of
his dad's pillow, a mix of
saltwater and something
uniquely Plankton, fills his
nose, lulling him into a
sense of safety.

Time seems to stand still in the
quiet embrace, each tick of the
clock a gentle reminder that
moments like these are rare. But
eventually, the world outside
their sanctuary calls, and Plankton
stirs.

His antennas twitch, his
eye blinking open .
He's disoriented at first, his
brain still wrapped in the
cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels
the warmth beside him, the
weight of a small hand in his.

Plankton's heart stutters,
his body tense. His eye find
Chip's peaceful face, his son's
cheek pressed against his arm.
The room is a tableau of quiet,
the air thick with the unspoken.
He's torn between emotions and fear,
his mind racing.

He doesn't remember falling
asleep, the anger and frustration
of last night a distant memory.
But here's Chip, a living proof
of their unspoken reconciliation.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
his hand hovering over their
entwined fingers. He's afraid to
move, to disturb the fragile
harmony of the moment.

But his body has other plans.
His muscles tense, his skin
prickling with the need for
space. He's not used to this,
the warmth, the weight. His
autistic brain screams for order,
for predictability. He tries to
swallow the rising panic, to push
it back down into the pit of his
stomach where it belongs. Plankton
can feel his own heart racing,
his antennas quivering with
the effort of holding still. His
body wants to recoil, to retreat
from the sudden assault of
sensation. But he can't, not with
his son's hand in his.

Karen notices the tension
in his body, the way his antennas
spasm slightly. She knows what's
coming, the inevitable retreat.
With a gentle touch, she whispers,
"It's okay, Plankton. You don't have
to handle it if it's too much."
Her words are a soothing balm,
but they're not enough to
calm the storm inside him.

Chip's hand tightens slightly
around his, and Plankton's eye
snap to his son's face. He sees
the trust there, the love.
It's a punch to the gut, a
reminder of all the moments
he's missed, all the times he's
failed to understand. His hand
shakes, the tremble traveling
up his arm.

He tries to swallow the
rising panic, his throat tight.
But it's too much, the weight
of his son's body, the heat,
the smell, the touch. His mind
whirrs, his senses overloading.
He needs space, to think, to breathe.
With a deep, shuddering inhale,
he starts to pull away, his
body fighting the instinct to
shove Chip off the bed.

Karen's hand is a gentle
weight on his shoulder.
"Take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a lifeline in the storm.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still quivering. He tries to
push the panic down, to
focus on the warmth of
Chip's hand, the steady beat
of their hearts. But the
pressure builds, a crescendo
of sensation threatening to
crush him. He can't breathe.

With a tremble, he starts
to pull away, his hand
sliding out from under
Chip's. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice strained.
"It's too much."

Karen's hand remains
on his shoulder, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "We're here."

The room spins around
Plankton, a whirlwind of
colors and shapes. His antennas
wave wildly, his grip on reality
slipping. He's lost in the chaos
of his own mind, the sensory
overload a tornado that
threatens to consume him.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
guiding him back to shore.
"Breathe," she whispers, her hand
still on his shoulder. "In, out,
slowly." Her words are a
lifeline in the tempest.

Plankton nods, his breaths
coming in ragged gasps. He tries
to focus on the sensation of
her hand, the gentle pressure
of her touch. But the world
keeps spinning, the colors
blurring together like a
watercolor painting left in
the rain.

He feels the bed shift as
Karen sits beside him, her
presence a grounding force.
"Just breathe," she says, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're
okay." His chest rises and falls in
quick succession, his body's
desperate attempt to regulate
itself amidst the chaos. His
heart races, each beat a
staccato in his ears. The room
spins, the walls closing in, the
ringing in his ears getting louder
to where it consumes him, now
impenetrable to any other sound.

Karen notices the sudden
pallor that sweeps over her
husband's face, the way his
body sags into the bed.
Her eyes fill with concern,
her hand tightening on his
shoulder. "Look at me," she says,
her voice firm but gentle.
"Take deep breaths."

But the ringing in his head is
too loud. It's consumed him
and impenetrable. He can't
hear her. He doesn't hear
anything.

Karen's voice is a distant
echo, the words swallowed by
the cacophony in his mind.
Her hand on his shoulder is
the only real thing, the
only anchor keeping him from
being swept away.

The room spins faster, the
colors bleeding into one
another until all Plankton
can see is a kaleidoscope of
sensory overload. The ringing
in his ears crescendos,
drowning out the world.
His chest feels tight, his lungs
desperate for air that won't
come. He's adrift in a sea
of panic, unable to find
his way back to the shore.

Karen's voice cuts through
the din, her hand a firm
reminder of reality. "Look
at me," she says, her eyes
locked on his, her voice a
steady lighthouse guiding
his way back. "Just me,
just us." But Plankton's not
hearing anymore.

The room is spinning, the
colors a whirlwind of chaos.
He's lost in the tornado
of his own making, the
sensory overload a prison
he can't escape. His hand
shakes, his body tense as
his mind begs for reprieve.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern.

"Plankton," she whispers, her
voice a gentle lullaby. "Look
at me." She moves closer, her
hand reaching for his face.
Her touch is a grounding force,
but it's not enough. He's
too far gone.

The room spins, a blur
of color and sound. Plankton's
eye is wide with panic, his
body trembling. The bed seems
to shift beneath him, the
walls closing in. His breaths
are shallow, his chest tight.
He's lost in the tornado of
his senses.

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is a lifeline, but
his mind is too far gone.
Her voice is a distant
whisper, the words unintelligible.
All he can feel is the
crushing weight of the
world pressing down on him,
the lights too bright, the
noises too loud. And then
Chip stirs in his sleep.

The movement sends a
shiver down Plankton's spine,
his body tightening like a
coiled spring. The ringing in
his ears reaches a crescendo,
drowning out everything else.
He tries to push the panic
back down, to find the calm
he desperately needs, but it's
like trying to hold back the
tide with a paper wall.

Karen's eyes are filled with
fear as she sees Plankton's
descent into overwhelm. She
knows the signs all too well.
Her hand on his shoulder is
now a firm grip, trying to
keep him tethered to the
here and now. "Look at me,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command. "Just me, just us."

But Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his mind swirling with a
torrent of sensations that
make him feel like he's
falling into a bottomless pit.
The room seems to spin faster,
the light from the window a
piercing glare that slices through
his retina. He wants to
shield his eye, but his arm
feels like lead, too heavy to lift.

Karen's touch is the only
constant, her hand on his
shoulder the one thing that
feels real amidst the
sensory maelstrom. But even
that is slipping away as
his dizziness crescendos into
full-blown vertigo. His vision
blurs, the lines of reality
smearing into a nauseating
whirl of color and light.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
urgent. "Look at me."

The words echo in his
head, a distant call amidst
the chaos. He tries to focus
on her face, her eyes the only
constant in the whirlwind
of sensations. But the world
spins, faster and faster,
until all he can see is a
blur of color.

Her hand on his shoulder is
a lifeline, but it's slipping
away. He feels himself
falling, tumbling into the
void of his own mind. His
body is a marionette, his
strings cut by the storm.
The ringing in his ears
reaches a crescendo, a
symphony of panic that
consumes him.

Karen's eyes are wide
with fear, her grip on him
desperate. "Look at me,"
she repeats, her voice 
steady. "You're okay."
Her hand moves to his face.

But Plankton's gaze is
glassy, his pupil dilated.
He's trapped in the chaos of
his senses. The ringing
in his ears is a siren's
call, pulling him deeper.

Karen's hand moves from
his shoulder to his cheek,
the softness of her touch
a stark contrast to the
harshness of the world
invading his mind. "Look
at me," she repeats, her voice
a whisper. "You're safe."
Her thumb traces the line
of his jaw, a gentle guide.

But Plankton's eye is
glassy, lost in the storm.
Her words are gentle,
trying to soothe him. But the
flames are too high, too
strong. He's drowning in
his own senses.

With a tremble, Karen's hand
moves to his cheek, her
touch a soft caress. "Look at
me," she whispers, her voice
a lifeline thrown into
the tempest. "You're ok."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ix

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 18

Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous

https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all

Read the Autism And All one first!


The silence stretches out,
comfortable and filled with a
newfound respect. 
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, as if
even in his dreams, he's
still trying to process the
world around him.

The next day, Krabs goes
to visit Karen and Plankton
again in the morning.

The room is bathed in
soft, early-morning light, and
Plankton is still asleep.
His breathing is slow and
even, the plush octopus a
comforting presence beside him.
Krabs watches him, his
heart swelling with a strange
mixture of emotions—fear,
sorrow, and a newfound
respect. He turns to Karen, his
claws fidgeting with a
nervous energy. "How can I
know when a seizure is
coming?" He asks, his voice
hushed so as not to disturb
the sleeping Plankton. "What if I
can't tell the difference?"

Karen smiles, her eyes
warm with understanding. "It's
ok," she says. "You'll
learn." She reaches over to
gently touch Plankton's arm.
"The signs can be subtle. Maybe
his eye will glaze over usually.
But the most important thing is
to be patient and to listen."

Krabs nods, his
claws stilling. "What about
his stims?" He asks, his voice
soft. "When he says things
or makes those sounds? I
mean, does he-"

Karen cuts him off gently. "It's
important not to interrupt his
stims, Krabs," she explains.
"They're a personal way for him to
self-regulate, to process
the world around him." She
looks at him, her screen kind.
"But if you're really
curious, the best thing to do
is ask him, when he's feeling
comfortable and ready to talk."
Krabs nods, his mind
whirling with questions. He's
always been so focused on the
now, on the chase for the
next big score, that he's never
stopped to consider the
complexities of someone else's
experience. But now, sitting here
in this quiet room, watching
his enemy sleep peacefully,
he can't help but feel a
shameful curiosity about the
person Plankton is underneath the
surface.

"What about his obsession
with the Krabby Patty?" He
whispers to Karen, his voice
barely above a murmur. "Is that
part of it too?"

Karen nods, a knowing
smile on her screen. "It's not just
an obsession, Krabs.
It's a special interest.
It's how Plankton's brain
processes information. For
some autistic people, it's a
way to focus and find comfort in
a world that can be chaotic."
Krabs' eyes widen,
his mind racing. "So...his
quest to steal the recipe isn't
just about greed?"

Karen sighs, her gaze
softening. "It's about more
than that. It's about
understanding something
that gives him comfort, and
having control over it."

Krabs nods, his mind
whirling with the depth of
what he's learning. "So,
his stims, his words, they're
his way of...finding order?"
Karen smiles, her eyes
crinkling at the corners. "In a
sense, yes. Autism is a
spectrum, Krabs. We all
have our quirks, but for
some, those quirks are their
lifeline." She strokes Plankton's
antennae. "His brain is wired
differently, and these things
are his way of making sense of
the world."

Krabs nods, his gaze
firmly on Plankton. "What can
I do to help?" He asks, his voice
soft, earnest. "How can I be a
better...friend?" Karen's smile
blooms fully. "Just be there,"
she repeats, her voice a gentle
caress. "Learn his cues,
his triggers. Give him space
when he needs it, and support
when he reaches out."

Karen's hand moves to Plankton's,
their fingers interlocking. "And
also, don't be afraid to enjoy the
little things," she whispers. "His
laugh, his excitement—those are
just as much a part of who he is
as his challenges."

Krabs nods, his gaze
never leaving Plankton's sleeping
face. "I'll try," he promises, his
voice thick with emotion. "I
just want to be there for him."

Karen's smile is gentle, her
eyes warm. "I know you do," she
says. "And he'll know it too, in
his own way." She pauses,
considering her next words. "You
might find that your friendship
will change," she adds. "But if
you're patient, it could be more
beautiful than you ever
imagined."

Krabs nods, his gaze
never leaving Plankton's
slumbering form. He can't help
but feel a sense of awe at the
strength it must take to live in
a world that's not always
understanding. "I want to
learn," he murmurs. "I want to
make things right."
Karen looks at him, her
eyes filled with warmth.
"Then you already have,"
she says. "Just by being here,
by asking, you're showing 
you care."

Krabs leans forward,
his curiosity piqued. "What else
can you tell me?" He asks,
his voice eager. "What types of
things does he like? Or what sets
him off?"

Karen looks at him, her
expression a blend of patience
and understanding. "Well,
he's quite sensitive to
certain textures and sounds."
Krabs leans in, his eyes
shining with curiosity. "Like what?"
He asks, eager to know more.

"Certain loud, sudden
noises can trigger his
overstimulation," Karen
continues, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's sleeping
form. "And some touches, like a
pat on the back, might feel
like a punch to him. But
he's also quite fond of soft
textures, like the one of this
blanket," she says, running a
finger over the plush material.

Krabs nods, his gaze
thoughtful. "I've noticed he
doesn't like when SpongeBob
squeezes him too hard." He
chuckles softly, the
memory of Plankton's
exasperation at the 
overly-enthusiastic
sponge still vivid. "But he
doesn't seem to mind your
touch.."

Karen smiles, her eyes
knowing. "It's all about
consent," she says, her voice
calm and even. "We all have
our preferences, but for
Plankton, it's more than just
a preference—it's a need."
Krabs nods, his gaze
still on Plankton. He's
always been so focused on
his own desires, so used to
getting what he wants that he's
never really stopped to think
about what others need. "How do
I know when he's overwhelmed?"
He whispers, his voice filled
with a newfound respect.
Karen looks at him, her
expression gentle. "You'll learn
his cues," she says. "It's about
being observant, noticing when
his breathing changes or his
body tenses up." She pauses, her
thumb stroking Plankton's arm.
"But it's also about asking, 
Krabs. Communication is key."

new to change the world plabsen karankton

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.

new plush one comfortcore vii

SHELF IMPROVEMENT ix
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," Karen 
says, her voice 
steady despite the 
worry. "You need to 
understand that Chip 
doesn't mean to 
hurt you."

But Plankton was lost 
in his own world, his 
tiny fists clenched 
by his sides, his 
body vibrating with 
uncontrolled anger. "No 
more!" he shrieked. "No 
more Chip!" His eye 
was wild, darting around 
the room as if searching 
for an escape from 
the invisible tormentor.

Karen watched him. She had 
read about meltdowns 
in her research but 
experiencing one was 
another matter entirely. 
Her husband's distress 
was palpable, and she 
knew she had to act 
quickly.

"Plankton," she 
said, her voice calm 
but firm. "Look at me.
It's Karen. You're safe."

But Plankton's 
eye remained wild, 
his antennae quivering. 
"No safe," he 
whispered, his voice 
haunted. "Chip, too loud."

Karen understood the depth 
of his fear. "Chip's 
not here," she said 
soothingly. "He's in his 
room, just like we asked.
You're okay."

But Plankton's 
screams continued, 
his tiny body 
shaking with the 
force of his 
anger. "Chip go!"
he yelled, his voice 
scratchy from the 
strain. "Chip bad!"

Karen's mind raced, 
trying to find a way 
to calm him. She 
moved closer, her 
hands up in a non-
threatening gesture. 
"Plankton, please," 
she said, her voice 
as gentle as a 
whisper. "Chip's not 
here, remember?"

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
continued, his voice 
raised in a string of 
incoherent threats 
and fear. "No more 
Chip!" he screamed. 
"Bad Chip, go!" His 
body was a blur of 
movement.

Karen tried to approach him, 
her movements slow 
and deliberate. "It's 
just us, Plankton," she 
said calmly, her voice 
soothing. "You're 
safe."

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
was unyielding. "Chip bad!"
he yelled, his antennae 
thrashing wildly. "Karen, 
make Chip go!" "Plankton, 
Chip's not here," she 
repeated, her voice 
even softer. "It's just 
you and me."

Plankton's screams 
continued, his 
tiny frame contorted 
with rage. "Make Chip 
leave!" he shrieked. 
"Chip go away!"

Karen's eyes 
filled with tears 
as she approached 
his trembling body. 
"Plankton, baby," she 
whispered, her voice 
steady. "Chip's not 
here. It's okay."

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
showed no signs of 
abating. He continued 
to scream, his 
fear-filled eye darting 
around the room as if 
his son was still 
there, threatening 
his sanctity. "No 
Chip, no more!"

Karen's voice 
was a gentle stream 
of reassurance, 
trying to cut through 
the storm of 
his distress. She 
knew she had to find 
a way to calm him 
without adding to his 
overwhelm. She 
moved closer, her 
body language open and 
non-threatening.

"Plankton," she 
soothed, her hand 
outstretched. "Look 
at me, it's just me, 
Karen." But his 
screams grew louder, 
his tiny fists 
pounding the bed 
in frustration.

"No Chip! No more 
loud!" he shrieked, 
his voice raw. "Karen 
keep Chip away!"

Karen moved closer, 
carefully placing 
a hand on 
his shaking 
shoulder. "Chip's not 
here, Plankton," she 
soothed, her voice 
gentle. "It's okay."

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
was a tempest 
she couldn't calm. 
"No more Chip!" 
he sobbed, his 
tiny body shaking 
with the force of 
his emotions. 
Tears streamed 
down his face, 
his antennae drooping 
as if in defeat.

Karen couldn't bear to 
see him like this, 
so vulnerable and 
afraid. She sat 
on the edge of 
the bed, her hand 
still on his shoulder. 
"It's okay," she 
whispered, her voice 
a gentle lullaby. "Chip's 
not here, Plankton."

Plankton's sobs 
were like the 
waves of the sea, 
crashing against 
the shore of his 
tiny frame. Each 
breath he took 
was a battle, his 
body racked with 
the effort of trying 
to calm himself down. 
Karen felt powerless, 
but she knew she had to 
try something.

"Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
barely audible over 
his cries. "Let's do 
our deep breathing, 
okay?" She demonstrated, 
inhaling deeply and 
exhaling slowly, hoping 
the rhythm would 
soothe him.

For a moment, 
his screams stuttered, 
his breath catching. 
Karen felt a flicker 
of hope. She leaned 
closer, her hand 
on his chest. "In and 
out," she instructed, 
feeling the rapid 
thump of his heart 
beneath her palm.

Slowly, his sobs began to 
even out, his breath 
matching hers. His 
body was still tense, 
his antennae still 
quivering, but the 
intensity of his meltdown 
was waning. Karen 
continued to breathe 
with him, her hand 
a comforting weight 
on his chest.

"Good, Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
a soft breeze in the 
storm. "In and out."

His sobs grew quieter, 
his body less tense. 
Karen's hand remained 
steady on his chest, 
feeling the erratic 
thumps slowing to a 
more manageable rhythm. 
The room was a cocoon 
of soft sounds—his 
breaths, her voice, the 
faint ticking of the 
clock on the wall.

"Good," she said, 
her voice still a 
whisper. "We're okay."

Plankton's body 
was still, his 
breathing returning to 
normal. He looked 
up at Karen. "Karen,"
he murmured, his voice 
small and scared.

Karen's with love 
and sadness. "I'm 
right here, baby," she 
whispered, stroking his 
forehead. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, his 
body slowly relaxing 
beneath her touch. 
"Safe," he murmured. 
"Chip?"

Karen squeezed his 
shoulder gently. "Chip's 
in his room, just like 
we asked," she said, her 
voice soft and steady. 
"He's not going to 
bother you now."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled, his breaths 
coming in deep, 
shuddering gulps. "No 
more loud," he whispered.

Karen nodded. "I know, 
baby," she said. "We'll 
make sure it's quieter 
for you."

Plankton's antennae 
relaxed slightly. "No 
more loud," he repeated, 
his voice a plea.

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her own 
tears. "We'll keep 
things calm," she 
promised. "We're all 
going to work 
together to make 
sure you're okay."

Plankton's gaze 
flicked to the door, 
his antennae quivering. 
"Chip safe?" he asked, 
his voice a mere 
whisper.

"Chip's safe," Karen 
reassured, her voice 
soothing. "He's just in 
his room, giving 
us some space."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched with 
understanding. "Space," 
he murmured. "Chip 
understands space?"

"Chip's just a 
little confused," she 
explained. "He loves 
you, but he's learning 
about your new 
needs."

Plankton nodded 
slightly, his antennae 
still. "Chip good," 
he murmured. "Just... 
to much."

Karen felt a 
wave of relief wash 
over her. "Yes, 
sweetie," she said. 
"Sometimes Chip's 
energy can be too 
much. We'll talk to 
him about it."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched again, 
his gaze drifting 
back to the 
closed door. "Talk?"

Karen nodded, 
wiping the tears. "Yes, 
we'll talk to him," she 
said. "We'll explain 
how you're feeling 
and what you need."

Plankton's antennae 
drooped slightly. "Chip 
still loves Plankton?"

Karen's eyes filled 
with tears. "More than 
anything," she assured 
him, her voice thick 
with emotion. "Chip loves 
you so much, and he'll 
learn how to be 
gentler with you."

Plankton's antennae 
perked up a little, 
his fear beginning 
to recede. "Gentler,"
he whispered, his voice 
hopeful.

"Yes," Karen 
nodded, her eyes 
never leaving his. 
"We'll all learn 
to be gentler."

new shelf improvement gentlecore ix

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