𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 8
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
Chip can feel the
awkwardness emanating
from his dad, his social
cues askew. It's strange,
seeing this powerful
man so lost in the
complexities of a simple
interaction. "I... I'm sorry,"
Plankton finally says,
his voice barely above a
whisper.
Chip's heart squeezes.
"For what?" he asks, his tone
gentle. Plankton's gaze
drops to the floor. "For
yesterday," he murmurs. "For
the... meltdowns." He
can't bring himself to meet
Chip's eyes, his hands
twitching nervously.
Chip nods, his eyes filling
with understanding. "It's
okay, Dad," he says. "You
have your moments. We
all do." Plankton's head looks
up, his eye wide. "It's okay
to be scared," Chip tells him.
"It's part of loving someone.."
Plankton turns away. "S'not
scared; that's not playing I
tell you, not my point." He
was engaging in self-talk,
Chip realized; Plankton's stim.
Chip gets out of bed,
his movements slow and
deliberate not to startle
his dad. He approaches
his father, his eyes filled
with empathy. "Dad," he says,
his voice soft. "It's okay to
feel scared or sad or any of
the things that come with
being upset. It's okay to
not have the wor—"
But Plankton cuts him off
with a sharp, "No, it's
not okay!" His voice is
harsh. "It's never okay!"
Chip's stomach drops, his
words forgotten. "I'm sorry,
Dad," he says, his voice
small. "I just wa-"
"Don't," Plankton snaps,
his tone hard. "Don't sorry me."
He turns away, his body
shaking with frustration.
Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his throat tight. "I'm just
trying to understand,"
he whispers. Plankton's eye
flips back to him, his gaze
intense. "Then understand
this," he says, his voice
sharp. "I. Don't. Need. YOU.
I Don't." The words are a
slap in the face, a rejection
of Chip's attempt to help.
"But Dad," Chip starts, his
voice trembling. "You-"
"NO!" Plankton's outburst
silences him. "I don't need
my son to parent me! And
I don't need your pity or
your explanations! So just
leave me alone!"
"Dad," Chip whispers, his
voice cracking. "I'm just
trying to help." Plankton's
shoulders tense, his
body language shouting
his frustration. "I don't
want your help!" he spat out.
"I don't need it!" The force
behind his words is
like a punch to Chip's gut.
He's never seen his
father so defensive, so
desperate to maintain his
independence.
"But you were upset,"
Chip insists, his eyes
welling with tears. "I just
wanted to make it be—"
"I SAID NO!" Plankton's
voice booms.
Chip's eyes widen in shock.
"I can handle myself,"
Plankton continues, his
fists clenched at his sides.
"I don't need you to
make it better. I need
you to let me be!"
With those words, he
spins on his heel and
exits out of the room,
his footsteps echoing down
the hallway. Chip watches
his retreat, his heart
pounding in his chest.
He's never seen his dad
so defensive, so unwilling
to accept help or
comfort.
The silence left behind
is deafening, each tick of the
clock a reminder of the
distance that's grown between
them. Chip feels the weight
of his dad's rejection, but
he also understands the need
for space just comes with
autism. He wipes his eyes,
his mind racing with thoughts
of what he could have done
differently, what he can do
to bridge this gap.
Karen sits up in bed as
her husband enters their
shared room angrily.
"Plankton, whaa-"
He cuts her off with a
wave of his hand, his
body still vibrating with
frustration. "I can't do
this," he says, his voice
shaking. "I can't be a dad
like this." He collapses
on his bed, his back to
her. Karen's eyes are
filled with worry, but
she knows better than
to push him right now.
"I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice muffled by the
pillow. "I just... I
can't control it." Karen
moves closer, her hand
reaching out tentatively.
"You don't have to control
everything," she says, her
tone gentle. "You're doing
the best you can."
But Plankton's already
gone, retreating into
his own mind. His eye
is squeezed shut, his
body tightening into a
tiny ball. Karen watches
his retreat, her heart
breaking. She knows
this isn't personal, that
his autism often leads
to moments like these,
where he needs to shut
the world out to survive.
Chip then comes in the
room. He only wanted to
explain himself. "Dad, I—"
Plankton's body tenses at
his voice. "Go, away." His
tone is cold, his eye still
pressed into the pillow.
Karen sighs, giving Chip
a sad look. "Just let him
to process," she whispers,
squeezing his shoulder.
Reluctantly, Chip backs out
of the room, his heart
heavy. He understands
his dad's need for solitude,
but it doesn't make the
rejection any easier to
swallow. He sits outside
their door, his ear pressed
against the wood, listening
for any sign that Plankton
might need him.
Karen turns to Plankton,
her eyes filled with a mix
of concern and sadness.
"It's hard, isn't it?" she
says, her voice gentle.
"You're just overwhelmed.
Yesterday was a lot."
Plankton nods, his body
still tense. "Can't... can't
do it," he whispers. "Can't
force Chip to understand."
Karen nods. "I know, sweetie."
Her hand reaches out to
his shoulder, but he flinches
away, retreating further into
his blankets.
"Chip won't get it," he
mutters, his voice muffled
by the pillow. "He never
will."
The room feels smaller, the
weight of Plankton's emotions
pressing in on Karen. She
knows his frustration isn't
just about yesterday. It's about
his entire life, about the
challenges he faces every
day, about feeling like he's
always one step behind in
a world that's too loud, too
bright, too confusing.
Chip's footsteps retreat
down the hallway, his sobs
barely audible. Karen's heart
aches for her son, who's
trying so hard to understand
his father's autism. She knows
how much Plankton loves
Chip, but sometimes, that love
is lost in the upset of his
own mind. She sits on the
edge of the bed, her hand
resting lightly on his back.
"You're so loved," she says,
her voice low. She's
seen this before, his retreat
into his own mind when the
world becomes too much.
But Plankton doesn't
answer. Karen knows
better than to force her
way in, so she waits. She
knew that patience is
key to unlocking the door
of his solitude. But then, she
hears it—a stim she knew;
Plankton talking to himself.
"Why can't he just leave me
be," he murmurs, his voice
barely audible. "Why do you
have to try and fix me.."
Karen's heart breaks a
little more. She knows that's
not what Chip's trying to do,
but she also knows that
autism can make even the
best intentions feel like
an as*ault. She remains
silent, giving him the space
he needs to process his
thoughts.
"It's like I'm not the boss
or in trouble," Plankton said
tensely, his voice quiet.
"And everyone's trying to pop
in." Karen's eyes fill with
tears. She knows that feeling,
the overwhelming sensation
of the world pushing in,
trying to change who you
are. She reaches out her hand,
this time more tentatively.
"You don't have to be
anything but you," she
whispers. Plankton's
body stiffens at her
touch, but he doesn't
pull away. "Chip loves
you, just as you are."
He turns to face her, his
eye glinting with anger. "But
I'm not enough," he says,
his voice tight. "I'm not
normal." Karen's heart
clenches at his words.
"Normal is a setting on
a dryer," she replies, her
tone firm. "You're more
than enough." Then Chip
comes back in.