Sink Or Stim Emojis & Text

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 4 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen turns to Dr. Joyce. "Can you explain what wisdom teeth removal will be like? That way, we know what to expect, so we can go from there.." The dentist nods, his expression understanding. "Of course," he says, his voice calm. "It's a simple procedure. Plankton?" But Plankton can't even look at him. His eye is squeezed shut, his breathing rapid. Karen sits beside him, her hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. "Breathe with me," she whispers. "In and out." Plankton's breaths are shallow, but he tries. The sound of Chip's footsteps disappearing down the hall is a relief. The pressure eases a bit. Karen keeps talking, her voice steady. "Listen to Dr. Joyce," she says. Dr. Joyce begins to explain, his voice measured and calm. "We'll give you some numbing gel, then a numbing shot, so you won't feel a—" But Plankton's anxiety spikes. "Needles," he whispers, trembling. "No.." Karen sighs, her heart aching. "Plankton, you know we can't avoid this. It's for your hea-" But he cuts her off, his voice desperate. "No, no no no no no!" The panic in his tone is clear. He starts to rock back and forth, his hands covering his head. The mention of sharps had sent him spiraling. Karen swallows hard, knowing this isn't the time to argue. "Okay, okay," she soothes. "Dr. Joyce; is there another way?" The dentist nods. "We do have anesthesia options," he says. "We can use 'sleepy gas' and then once he's asleep, use IV to continue keeping him asleep. We'll use dissolving stitches, and you can stay with him the whole time.." Karen's eyes light up. "That could work," she says. "Plankton, you won't feel anything. You'll just fall asleep." Plankton's rocking slows, his breathing easing slightly. He nods, his eye still closed. "Ok," he whispers. "But only if you're there." Dr. Joyce nods. "Ok then Plankton; I'll get everything set up if you and Karen go into the waiting room." Karen nods and helps Plankton to his feet. He moves stiffly, his anxiety still high. As they walk to the waiting room, Chip's face peeks around the corner. Plankton sees his son on the bench. In the waiting room, Plankton finds a quiet corner, his heart still racing. He starts to rock back and forth, a go-to stim. Chip looks confused as Plankton makes a monotonous humming sound. Karen notices the look on her son's screen. "It's okay, Chip," she whispers. "Your dad just needs to calm down. This is his way." Chip nods, watching as Plankton's antennae twitch. In the corner, Plankton continues to rock, his humming growing softer. Karen sits beside him, her eyes scanning the magazines. She knows better than to interrupt his stimming. It's his attempt to cope with the overwhelm. Chip watches, his own thoughts racing. He doesn't know what to do, how to help. He wants to hug his dad, but he remembers the look of pain when he did so before. So, he stays on the bench. Plankton looks around, his gaze landing on the wall. "Repair of nice touch," he murmurs, his self-talk quiet. Chip looks at Karen. "What's he doing?" he asks. Karen sighs. "He's stimming," she explains. "It's how he deals. Just let him be." Chip nods, his gaze firm on Plankton. He wants to understand, really understand his dad. A few moments later, the nurse, Marta, calls them back. "Sheldon Plankton?" He flinches. "Stay and we'll be coming out when after all done," Karen tells Chip, before following Marta in Dr. Joyce's office with Plankton. The room is cold, the smell of antiseptic lingering. Plankton's body tenses, his stomach in knots. But Karen's hand is in his, and her grip is firm. He tries to focus on that. Dr. Joyce enters, his face kind. "Ready?" he asks. Plankton nods. "Karen can sit and hold your hand, ok? Now, this is a plastic bitewing slab. It'll let us be able to reach in to your mouth after you're asleep." Plankton nods again, his hand squeezing Karen's. The nurse places the bitewing in his mouth, his teeth biting down on it. Karen watches as the nurse gets the gas mask. "This is the anesthesia," she says, her voice calm. "You'll just breathe in. Ready?" Plankton nods. The mask is placed, the smell faintly minty. He takes a deep breath. "Breathe in," the nurse instructs. He does so. Karen's heart thumps in her chest as she watches Plankton's eye glaze over. The gas is working. She squeezes his hand, whispering, "It'll be okay." Plankton's eye rolls back slightly as the gas takes effect. His body goes limp in the chair, his eye finally closing. Karen watches, her heart racing, as the nurse quickly starts the IV. He doesn't flinch, lost to the world of sleep. She holds his hand tightly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. The mask is then removed, as the IV continues to deliver the anesthesia. Plankton's chest rises and falls steadily. Dr. Joyce nods reassuringly. "We're all set," he says. "Now we can start the procedure." Karen watches as the nurse administers the numbing shots into his gums. She watches as they extract Plankton's wisdom teeth. And she watches as they use the dissolving stitches to suture his gums. The whole time, Plankton's hand is in hers. "I'll remove the IV and put the gauze in now before he wakes. Marta you can go and get their son, Chip Plankton?" Dr. Joyce says. Marta nods, scurrying out of the room. Karen's eyes stay on Plankton's sleeping form, his mouth slightly open, his breathing deep and even. She feels the weight of what just happened. The anxiety, the fear—it was all so intense. But he's safe now, Dr. Joyce removing the IV. He then replaces the bitewing with gauze. The nurse returns with Chip in tow. His eyes are wide, taking in his father's unconscious state. "Dad?" he whispers, his voice unsure. Karen turns to him, her face calm. "He's okay," she says. "They just finished up." Chip nods. Dr. Joyce smiles at them. "You can sit with him now," Dr. Joyce says. "He'll be out for a few more minutes. Remember, his mouth will be numb. He might feel a bit funny, and will be groggy. The gauze helps with the blood. He might tend to fall asleep today. After the local numbing anesthesia's worn off tomorrow, he will be in pain for at least a week, not to mention his sensory issues. Swelling is expected; yet all these are normal." Karen nods, her hand still clutching Plankton's.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 5 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Chip watches as his mom sat in the chair next to his dad, still asleep. Plankton's mouth is open slightly, and a tiny trickle of drool now slides down. Karen notices Chip's concern. "It's normal, honey," she says softly. "The medicine makes his mouth relax." Chip nods, though he can't help feeling a bit grossed out. He sits in the chair beside them. Karen gently wipes his chin with a tissue. "He'll wake up soon," she says to Chip. "And then we'll go home." The nurse, Marta, re-enters the room, carrying a pack of gauze. She sets them on the tray next to the dental chair. "To take home if wanted," she instructs. Karen nods, her gaze still on Plankton. His mouth is slack, and another steady trickle of drool forms. She giggles. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love. Chip stares. "Is he ok?" he asks. "It's the medicine," she explains. "It makes his mouth go a bit funny. He's totally fine." Despite the seriousness of the situation, the sight of Plankton, usually so stoic and in control, drooling in his sleep brings a smile to her face. It's a rare moment of vulnerability. Chip watches, his thoughts racing. He wants to laugh too, but he's unsure if it's okay after his earlier mistakes. Slowly, Plankton's brow starts to furrow. Karen keeps her voice steady. "You're okay," she says, her thumb still stroking his hand. His eye blinks open, his gaze unfocused. "K-Karen?" he asks, his mouth numb. Karen smiles, her hand still in his. "You're okay, sweetie. We're at the dental office. You're just waking up. You've slept right through i-" But Plankton cuts her off, his speech slurred. "Wha...?" He tries to sit up, but his body doesn't cooperate. "Easy," she says, placing a gentle hand on his chest. "You're still groggy." His eye rolls around, trying to focus on his surroundings. Chip snickers, watching his dad's movements. Plankton looks at his son, his expression confused. "Whass... sho funmy?" Karen chuckles. "It's just the anesthesia, sweetheart," she says. "You're going to be a bit loopy for a while. Chip's here, too.." Plankton's eye swivels to look at Chip, his expression bewildered. "Hi Dad," Chip says, his voice tentative. Plankton's mouth moves awkwardly, trying to form words. "Hi... itth Ship," he mumbles. His tongue feels too large for his mouth. Chip laughs a little louder this time. Karen's smile widens. "It's Chip," she says gently. "And we're at the dentist." Plankton's expression clears a bit, his antennae perking up. "Oh, yesh," he says, his speech still slurred. "Theth... wis'dum teeff." He looks at Karen, his eye wide. "Mou’f weh nighty-night?" Karen laughs, her hand still in his. "Yes, your mouth went to night-night." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mind trying to make sense of his current state. "Tee... thuh?" Chip giggles too, the tense atmosphere of before dissipating. The nurse, Marta, smiled at their reactions. "It's the anesthesia," she says, her voice kind. "He'll be like this for a little while. It's normal." Plankton looks at his hand, noticing it. "Thisshh... mh han..." Plankton asked. Karen laughs softly, squeezing his hand. "Yes; it's your hand, Plankton," she says, amusement in her eyes. He then saw his own reflection. "Why mh mou'h omver dere? I thee wis'dum teesh stiw." "No that's your gauze," Dr. Joyce says. "And it's your reflection; your mouth's just numb.." "Goth?" Plankton repeats. "Wuh 'm doin?" Karen laughs. "The dentist just took your wisdom teeth out. It's okay, honey. It's all done. You're st-" But Plankton interrupts, his voice still slurred. "Wis'dum... no mo'?" He seems to find this funny, and he giggles. Chip's laughter escalates, his screen shining with relief and joy. He reached for Plankton's hand. "Ship don’ tush me!" Plankton asks, his body jolting. His reaction is so sudden, so unexpected, that even the nurse jumps. Karen's laughter dies down. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, squeezing his hand. "Chip will learn not to touch you." Plankton looks at her, his gaze still hazy. "Pwomish?" Chip nods vigorously. "I promise," he says. "I won't touch you without asking again." Plankton's antennae twitch, his droopy smile lopsided. "Gud boy, Ship," he says, his voice still thick with the anesthesia. Chip feels a warmth in his heart. "Thish ish funmy," Plankton says, his eye glazed. Karen shakes her head, chuckling. "Let's get to the car.." She helps him out of the chair, his legs feeling like jelly. "Careful," she says. "You're still woozy." Plankton wobbles, his legs not quite understanding his brain's commands. He holds onto Karen tightly. "Iss feews... weiwd," he mumbles, his voice slurred. Karen nods. "That's the anesthesia." They make their way to the parking lot, his mouth feeling numb. The sun is bright, and Plankton squints, his eye sensitive to light. "Hone?" he asks, his speech still slurred. Karen nods. "We'll get you home, love," she says, guiding him to the car. Chip sits in the back. As Karen drives, Plankton keeps looking at his reflection in the window, his mouth filled with gauze. "Wook ath me," he giggles, his speech still affected. Karen smiles at him in the rearview mirror. "You're funny, Dad," Chip says, his voice filled with affection. Plankton looks at him in the mirror, his eye unfocused. "Yethh?" "Yeah," Karen says, her smile warm. "The medicine makes people a bit loopy. It'll wear off soon." Plankton nods, his antennae twitching. He tries to smile back, but his mouth won't cooperate. Drool starts to pool at the corner of his mouth. Chip watches, his laughter bubbling up. "Dad, you're drooling," he says, pointing. Plankton's eye widens. "Dwop it," he says, his words barely coherent. Karen reaches back. "Here," she says, wiping his chin. "Thish ish 'mberassin," Plankton mumbles. Karen chuckles. She glances in the mirror, her screen twinkling with humor. "We'll get home and you can rest." Chip watches his dad, his own laughter dying down. "I think he's enjoying it," Chip says to his mom, his voice filled with amusement. "He's feeling a bit out of it," Karen explains. "But yes, it can be like that." Plankton's eye then flutters. "Wha's happenin'?" Plankton slurs, his head lolling to the side. Karen chuckles. "You're still groggy," she reminds him, taking his hand. "You're ok."

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 6 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton's antennae twitch in confusion. "Buth... my mou'h..." He tries to stay awake. Karen's laughter fills the car. "You're still under the anesthesia," she says, her voice gentle. "You're fine. Do you feel sleepy?" Plankton shook his head, his eyelid drooping. "M'so noth thweepy," he murmurs, his tongue unable to form the words properly. "I'm wiww awake." But his protests were futile. His body was succumbing to the anesthesia's remaining grip, and his head grew heavier. "I'm noth sweepy," he mumbles, his voice almost a whisper. Yet, his eye is slipping closed despite his best efforts. Karen chuckles. "You are, Plankton," she says. "You're gonna fall asl-" And just like she said, his head tips back, his eye closing. Chip feels Plankton's weight on his arm. "Dad?" But there's just a faint snore. Karen smiles at their reflection in the mirror, her heart filled with a mix of relief and love. "Well, I guess we know he's asleep now," she says. Chip looks down at his dad, who's now drooling onto his shoulder. "Gross," he whispers, trying not to laugh. Karen glances back. "It's just part of it," she says, taking a quick picture. "He's so cute when he's out." Plankton's snores grow louder, his body completely relaxed. Chip feels a mix of amusement and affection. He's never seen his dad like this before. The drive home is quiet, the only sounds being Plankton's snoring and the car's engine. Karen's eyes dart between the road and the rearview mirror, checking on them both. Chip watches his dad's chest rise and fall. Karen's eyes flick to the mirror, seeing her son watching Plankton. "You ok, Chip?" she asks. Chip nods. "It's just weird, seeing Dad like this." "It's normal after surgery," Karen says, keeping her screen on the road. "He's just really out of it." Chip nods, watching his dad. Plankton's snores are rhythmic, his breaths deep. There's something peaceful about it. He's always so tense, so anxious. But now, he's just... asleep. Karen pulls into their driveway. She turns to face them both. "We are home," she said, smiling. Plankton's snore cuts off abruptly, his eye snapping open. "Hone?" he repeats, his voice thick with sleep. Chip giggles. "Yeah, Dad. You fell asleep." Plankton sits up slowly. He looks around. "Hometh," he murmurs. Karen nods. "Let's get you inside, sweetie," she says, reaching for his hand. The house is quiet. Plankton stumbles a bit. "M'so... m'so... thweepy," he slurs. Karen laughs, guiding him to the sofa. "You just need to rest. Chip can sit by you.." Chip nods eagerly, his laughter from the car ride still fresh. Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "Thish... thish... sho co... co... comfowt," he asks, his speech still slurred. Karen covers him with a soft blanket. "Thish... ish... my... my... bedth?" His question makes Chip laugh. "No, Dad, it's the sofa," Chip says, smiling. Plankton's antennae wobble. "Bu’ ith... ith... ith's sho... sho... I’unno." His words come out in a drawn-out slur. Karen laughs. "You're just out of it," she explains, her voice gentle. "The anesthesia makes everything feel different." Chip watches his dad, his smile growing. "You're like a sleepy baby," he teases, his voice filled with affection. Plankton's eye opens a bit wider, his expression indignant. "M'not a baybee," he slurs, his body wriggling under the blanket. "M'a big boi." Karen laughs softly. "You're so right, Plankton. You are my strong man," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton tries to sit up. "I... I'm a widdle... wobot?" His words come out like a drunken stumble. Chip's laughter fills the room, his screen shining with joy. Karen helps him settle back down, his head lolling to the side. "Just rest," she says. "You're still not fully with us. Let me remove the gauze.." Plankton's eye pops open again. "Whath youf doin?" he asks, his words still thick. Karen smiles, her hand gentle. "Removing the gauze," she says. "You don't need it anymore." Plankton blinks, his eye glazed. "Wha?" He tries to lift his head, but it's too heavy. Karen removes the gauze, throwing it away in the trash. "Thheemth... my tooh?" he slurs, his gaze unfocused. Chip laughs harder. Karen gently pushes his body back down. "They took them out," she says, her voice soft. "You don't have to worry about them." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mind slowly processing the information. "O... k... ay," he murmurs. "M'think I'm gonna fallth asl... asle... asle..." His words trail off as his head droops again. Karen laughs and catches his head with her hand. "You're fine," she soothes. Chip watches, his heart full. It's rare to see his dad so vulnerable, so completely at ease. He's usually so guarded, but the medicine has stripped away that wall. Plankton's antennae wave in the air, his body still swaying slightly. "Wha's... wha's om the TV?" he asks, his eye searching the room. Karen looks around, amused. "The TV's not on," she says. Plankton's eye widens. "Buth I heareth... I heareth..." He starts to giggle again, his eye half-lidded. "Wha's... wha's my prize?" he slurs. Karen and Chip exchange a look, amusement clear in their eyes. "Dad," Chip says, his voice a gentle chuckle, "you make me laugh." Plankton blinks, his gaze still searching the room. "Prize?" Karen asks, playing along. Plankton nods, his head moving slowly. "You know, for being sumch goob," he mumbles. "Oh," Karen said, understanding dawning. "You mean, for being so brave at the dentist?" Plankton nods. "Yeth. Thath's wha’ I meath." Chip laughs out loud, his dad's antics infectious. "Okay, Dad," he says, his voice filled with mirth. "Your prize is... uh..." He looks around the room. "Your prize is... not having to do dishes tonight!" Plankton's antennae perk up. "Thath's... thath's... nof fair," he slurs, his mouth still half-open. Karen shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You heard our son, Plankton." Chip laughs, his dad's confusion adorable. "But I wan'... I wan' my prize," Plankton whines. His tongue flicks out, touching his numb lip. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice filled with affectionate teasing. "No dishes is a pretty good prize." But Plankton's mind is loopy. "It'sh numb," he mumbles, his mouth moving awkwardly as he tries to speak. He opens his mouth and experimentally moves his jaw, feeling nothing but a weird sensation.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 7 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton's antennae wave as he moves his jaw around, his teeth finding his lower lip. He chews experimentally, his eye squinting in concentration. Karen watches, knowing his need for sensory input. "Plankton, love, be careful," she says, still smiling. "Your mouth's all numb. You could bite yourself." Chip's laughter subsides as he notices his dad's behavior. "Why's he doing that?" he whispers. "I guess it's a way of getting used to the feeling," Karen explains quietly. "The anesthesia makes everything feel weird. He's just trying to understand his body again." Chip nods, still watching his dad with fascination. Plankton's chewing slows down, his body relaxing into the sofa. "M'so tireth," he says, his words barely audible. Karen nods. "Let's get you up to bed." With Karen's help, Plankton stands, his legs still wobbly. Chip follows. They make their way to the bedroom, Plankton leaning heavily on his wife. Once in bed, Plankton looks around the room, his gaze unfocused. "Wha'... whath fhis?" he asks. Karen laughs softly. "It's your bed, Plankton," she says, helping him under the covers. Chip watches as his mom fluffs his dad's pillows. Plankton's still chewing on his numb lip, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, you can stop," Chip says, his voice gentle. Plankton's chewing continues, his expression confused. "M'not chewing," he slurs, his eye half-closed. "It's justh... thith no thensation." Karen chuckles. "It's okay," she says. "Your body's still waking up from the surgery." Plankton's antennae drop slightly. "Thurgery?" he repeats. "M'fine," he mumbles. "No moh wi’dom t'ee.." Karen chuckles, kissing his forehead. "You had your wisdom teeth out," she says, keeping her voice soothing. "You're just a bit loopy." Chip sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes on Plankton's slow, methodical chewing. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice tender. "You can stop now." Plankton's eye opens wider. "Wis'dum teef?" he repeats. Karen nods, her smile softening. "Yes, your wisdom teeth. They're out now. Just relax." Plankton's body sags into the pillows, his chewing continuing. Chip watches his dad with a mix of concern and amusement. "Dad, you can stop," he says, his tone gentle. Plankton looks at him, his eye still half-closed. "Wha's... wha's wrong? Sh̕op whah?" "You're just chewing on your lip," Karen explains, stroking his forehead. "It's the numbness from the surgery." Plankton's eye blinks. "It's okay, love," she adds, kissing him. "Your mouth will feel normal again soon." Plankton's chewing slows, his mouth opening wider, his teeth clicking together slightly. "M'thorry," he slurs. "M'not... m'not... tryin' tho bith..." His words are lost in the slurred mess, his head drooping back on the pillow. Karen tucks the covers around him. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice soothing. "You're doing great." Chip can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the whole situation, his mind racing with questions about his dad's autism and how to support him. As Plankton's eye begins to close, his chewing stops. Karen looks at Chip, her eyes filled with pride. "You did so good today," she says. "You learned a lot about your dad's needs." Chip nods, his gaze still on his father. "But we still have a week of recovery ahead of us," she adds. The next morning, Plankton awakes with no anesthesia left in his system, his voice no longer slurred. Karen greets him. "Hi, Plankton! Do you recall yesterday?" Plankton nods. "I remember the mask and waking up. Ooow.." He touches his face with his hands, his face contorted in pain. "It's okay," she says, her voice calm. "You had wisdom teeth surgery. You might have some discomfort." "My heightened pain receptors don't like this," Plankton says. "I—I think I'm feeling one of my absence seizures coming on.." Karen nods. She knew the harmless seizures were part of his autism. Sure enough, when Chip walked in, he found his mom holding his dad's hand. Chip doesn't know about Plankton's absence seizures, so he's surprised to find his dad unblinking, sitting up in bed. "Dad?" Plankton's eye starts to dart back and forth. It's subtle, but Chip notices. Karen sees the confusion in her son's gaze. "It's his autism, Chip," she says calmly. "It's called an absence seizure.." Chip watches, feeling his own heart race. He's never seen his dad like this. Plankton's body is still, but his eye is moving quickly. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "It's just his brain's way of processing everything." Chip comes closer as Plankton's pupil flickers rapidly from left to right. It's a sight that's both fascinating and eerie to Chip. He's never seen anything quite like it. "What's happening?" he asks, his voice small. "It's a type of seizure," Karen explains calmly, keeping her hand on Plankton's. "It's harmless, yet it's part of his autism." Chip swallows, watching his dad's eye move erratically. The room feels still, as if time has slowed down, the only movement being the twitch of Plankton's pupil. Karen's hand squeezes his gently, reminding him of her presence. "Just wait for it to pass," she whispers. Chip stares, his eyes wide with concern. He's never seen his father so still, yet his eye moves as if it has a mind of its own. It's odd, yet fascinating to Chip. "Uhm, Dad.." Plankton doesn't respond. Karen knew she had to explain. "Chip, son, remember when I talked about how autism affects people differently?" Chip nods, his gaze still glued to Plankton. "Well, this is one way it affects your dad. It's called an absence seizure. It happens to some autistic people," Karen says gently. "He doesn't really know it's happening. He can still feel pain, but he can't really respond." Chip nods again, his heart pounding in his chest. He's never felt so powerless in the face of his dad's vulnerability. But he also feels a strange sense of awe. It's like his father's brain is taking a quick break, leaving the rest of his body behind. "What now?" Chip asks. Karen smiles. "These may last from a minute to an hour, but the duration varies. He's overwhelmed by the discomfort of his wisdom teeth, which is what set it off just now." Karen turns to Plankton. "Hey; Chip's here. It's ok!" Plankton, of course, does not respond. Chip frowns in confusion. "It's like he's in a daze," Chip says, his voice quiet. Karen nods. "It's his autism, love," she says, her voice steady. "These are called absence seizures." Plankton's pupil continues to dart, his body otherwise still.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 8 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Chip is curious. "Mom, why do you talk to him if he won't respond to you?" "It's comforting, Chip," Karen says. "Even if he doesn't react, he feels my presence. It can help him come out of the seizure more quickly." Her voice remains calm, her gaze firmly on her husband. "You can talk to him, Chip," she suggests. "It can help him back faster." Chip swallows hard, his hand hovering near his dad's. "Dad?" he says tentatively. Plankton's eye doesn't stop moving. "It's Chip; I'm here. Can you hear me?" Karen nods encouragingly. "It's ok," Chip repeats, his voice soft. "We're here." The minutes tick by. Plankton's eye movement gradually slows, his body still tense. Chip holds his breath, his heart thumping in his chest. Eventually, Plankton's pupil stops, his eye focusing on Karen's screen. "Hi, love," Karen says, smiling gently. "It's over." Plankton blinks, his gaze shifting to his son. "Chip?" His voice is sharp. "When’d YOU come in here!" He felt self conscious. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice steady. "We were just waiting for your little seizure thing to pass." But Plankton's relieved to see Karen's smiling features. "It's okay," she says to Plankton. He nods. Plankton then starts to talk to himself, his voice a low murmur. It's his stimming, Chip realizes—his way of processing the world. "It's not funny. Just pain for a week; not doing nothing, I'll tell." His antennae twitched as he turned his head away from them. Karen knew his self-talk well. But Chip's still unsure. He doesn't understand that his dad's self-talk was not to be commented on. He just wants to help be there for his dad. "Dad, it's okay," Chip says, his voice tentative. He's still not quite sure how to navigate his dad's autism. Plankton's antennae whip around to face him. "I know it's not funny," Chip adds quickly, hoping to ease any embarrassment. But Plankton's getting upset with him now. "What are you talking about?" Plankton snaps, his voice edgy. Chip's face falls. He didn't mean to interrupt, just wanted to be there for him. "You were just talking to yourself," Chip says, his voice small. "I didn't mean to... I ju—" But Plankton's antennae are fully erect now, his face reddening. "I know what I'm doing!" he shouts, his frustration boiling over. "I'm NOT a child!" Chip shrinks back, his eyes wide with surprise. "Dad, I don't mean it like that!" he protests, but Plankton's anger is palpable. Chip looks at his mom, uncertain. "Plankton," Karen says gently, her tone even. "Chip didn't mean anything by it. He's just trying to help." Plankton takes a deep breath, his chest heaving. "I know," he says through clenched teeth. "But I don't like being talked about." Chip's eyes fill with understanding. "Sorry, Dad," he says, his voice earnest. "I just wanted to make sure you were oka-" "I'm fine!" Plankton interrupts, his voice still raised. "Just... leave me alone." Karen sighs, her eyes on her husband. She knows his sensory overload is intense. "Chip," she says, turning to her son, "Remember, Daddy's still in a lot of pain. And his brain works a bit differently." Chip nods, feeling his screen heat up. "I'm sorry," he whispers, not knowing what else to say. Plankton looks away. "I so far told him, he just can't listen but keeps going." He says, his self talk starting up again. "No laughing, I find the listening can't even do it. Not gonna work on saying it, I'm just sitting on my bed here.." Chip cuts in, just trying to understand. "Dad, we're not laughing at you! I swear, I don't think anything's funny about this. I just want to be here for yo--" "I don't need you here!" Plankton snaps, voice sharp with pain and frustration. Chip's heart sinks. He's interrupted his dad's self-talk stims once again. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice low. He steps back, giving his father the space he so clearly needs. Plankton's antennae wave in agitation. "You always do this," he mutters to Chip. "Think you know better." Karen watches the exchange, her heart heavy. She knows how much their son wants to support Plankton, but his good intentions miss the mark. "Plankton," she says firmly but calmly, "Chip's just trying to help." Plankton's antennae drop. "I know, Karen," he mumbles, his anger quickly dissipating. "But I can't... I just can't deal with it right now." Chip feels like he's walked on eggshells. "Okay, Dad," he says, his voice still shaky. "I'll... I'll ju—" But Plankton's already turned away, his body stiff with pain and frustration. Chip looks to Karen, his eyes pleading for guidance. "Let's give him some space," Karen says quietly. "He's just overwhelmed." They exit the room, closing the door softly. Outside, Chip leans against the wall, feeling a mix of sadness and confusion. "Mom," he starts, his voice tentative. "Why do I get Dad so upset? I'm just trying to be there for him." Karen sighs. "It's part of his autism, Chip. Sometimes, his sensory overload makes it hard for him to understand others' intentions. And when he's in pain, it's even worse." "But I didn't mean to upset him," Chip says, his voice tight. "I just wanted to be here." He wipes his tears away. Karen wraps her arms around her son. "I know, Chip," she says, her voice kind. "It's not just about you; it's about his autism. Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed by things we might not even notice. And when that happens, it's hard for him to communicate what he's feeling.." Chip nods, his eyes still on the door. "But why does he get so mad at me?" he asks. Karen sighs, her screen reflecting her understanding. "It's not that he's mad at you, Chip. It's just that the pain and the sensory overload can make his emotions intense. And when he's trying to deal with all that, it's easy for things to escalate." "I just wanted to be there and show my support." Chip says. Karen nods. "I know. Now, I'll be out front gardening. Let me know if you or your dad need anything." Once Karen steps outside, Chip tries to come up with a way to make his father feel seen. So he went with the first idea that pops in his head. He'll try stimming! And perhaps his dad will realize how much Chip accepts autism! Before thinking any better of his misguided idea, Chip goes into his parents room to see his dad. Plankton was on his bed. "Hey Dad," Chip says. "I bet recovering from wisdom teeth removal can be hard." Plankton merely shrugs. Oblivious to the potential harm, Chip starts to mimic his dad's stims. He rocks back and forth, his hands flicking in the air, exaggerated.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 10 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen notices his tension and squeezes his hand. "Do you want me to speak to Chip first?" she offers. Plankton nods, his eye on the floor. "If you could, love," he says, his voice hoarse. "I just... I don't know how to explain it to him." Karen nods understandingly. "Chip," she says, finding her son in his room, "Could you please come and talk to your dad and me?" Chip's eyes dart to his mother's screen, reading the seriousness in her tone. He nods, following her into his parents' room. Plankton is sitting on the bed, his antennae slumped. Chip's heart sinks as he sees his dad. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice cracking. Karen sits on the bed, her hand on Plankton's. "Chip," she says, "Do you understand why your dad is upset?" Chip nods, his eyes on the carpet. "I think so," he whispers. "But I didn't know it would make him sad. But why did he get so mad?" Karen looks at Chip. "It's not just because you did the stims," she explains, her voice gentle. "It's because it's private.." Plankton's head snaps up. "No," he says, his voice firm. "It's because you don't get it." Chip's eyes meet his dad's, confused. "Get what?" "You don't understand," Plankton says, his voice shaking. "You can't just... just decide to be autistic. It's not a costume you can put on or take off." His words hit Chip like a punch to the gut. Karen nods. "Your dad's right, Chip. Autism is something we live with every day," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "It's not something to play with." Chip looks up, his screen meeting hers. He sees the sadness there, the disappointment. "But, I just wanted to make him smile," Chip says, his voice small. "I didn't know it would make him upset." Karen sighs, her screen filled with compassion. "I know, Chip," she says. "But you have to understand that autism is part of your dad, and it's not something to imitate. You can support him by learning about his condition and respecting his boundaries." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still on the floor. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to make you sad." Plankton looks at his wife, then back at Chip. "I know," he says, turning away from his son. But Chip doesn't understand, not really. He can't read the subtle cues in his dad's body language, the way his antennae are back. "Dad, I just wanted to show you that I get it," Chip says, his voice earnest. But Plankton's posture only stiffens. "Chip," Karen says, "Look at your dad. See how his antennae are down? That means he's upset." Chip's eyes follow her gaze to Plankton's antennae. They're pinned back against his head. Chip nods, his expression solemn. "But, I don't get it," he says. "How can I know if he's happy or sad if he doesn't tell me?" Karen sighs. "That's a difficulty with autism, Chip. Sometimes, you have to read between the lines, pick up on the nonverbal cues." Plankton remains silent, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen continues, "When your dad's antennae are down, like they are now, it usually means he's uncomfortable. It's like reading body language for anyone else, but with autism, it can be a bit more complex." Chip looks at Plankton, his eyes searching his father's face for any clue of what he's feeling. Plankton doesn't respond, his body no longer facing Chip. Karen sighs. "Chip," she says, her voice soft. "You have to be more observant. Look at his antennae, his body, his posture. They're all telling you his state of mind." Chip looks at her in confusion. "When his antennae are twitching rapidly, it can mean he's overstimulated, like right now," she points out. "And when they're down, like they were before, it's a sign of sadness or anger. And when he turns away, like he's doing now, it means he needs space. Can you see how his shoulders are slumped?" Chip nods, his gaze focused on Plankton's form. He's trying to learn, really trying to understand. "But what about when he's happy?" he asks, hopeful. "When your dad's happy," Karen says, her voice softer, "his antennae will be relaxed, not too high or too low. He might wave his hands slightly, or his eye will have a certain sparkle." She looks over at Plankton, who's still not looking at them. "And his posture will be more open, not so... closed off." Plankton nods slightly, his antennae twitching. He knows they're trying to mend things, but it's still hard. "And his voice?" Chip asks. "Sometimes, Dad won't change his tone of voice?" Karen smiles, a sad smile. "Yes," she says. "It's one of the quirks of his autism. Sometimes, his emotions don't translate to his voice as clearly as they would for others. He talks in a monotone, which can make it hard to tell if he's happy or sad or anything in between." She pauses, swallows. "But, if you listen closely, you'll hear the love, the pride, the joy in his voice when he's happy." Chip nods, his eyes still on his father. "And his hands," Karen says, her voice gentle. "When he's happy, they might flap a little." Chip nods again, his eyes now on Plankton's hands, which are currently clenched into fists. "But, if he's upset, his hands will be still," Karen continues. "And his eye won't have that... sparkle." Chip looks at Plankton's single eye, which is now red and puffy from crying. "I see," he whispers. Karen takes a deep breath, preparing for the next part of the explanation. "And when it comes to socializing, autism can make things a bit tricky," she starts. "Your dad might not pick up on tension or subtleties like everyone else does. Sometimes, his responses might seem blunt or strange." Chip nods, his gaze still on Plankton, who remains silent. "It's like his brain works in a different way," Karen continues. "And that's okay. It's just something we all need to be aware of and respect." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "When your dad's trying to interact with others, it can be like he's playing a game of charades. He's guessing at the right expressions, the right words, and sometimes he misses the cue." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still on Plankton. "But why doesn't he just tell me?" he asks, his voice small. "Why can't he say if he's happy or upset?" Karen sighs, squeezing Plankton's hand. "It's not that simple," she says. "For autistic people, like your dad, it can be really tough to put feelings into words. Sometimes, he might not even know what he's feeling until it's too intense." Chip's eyes widen. "So, like, he's guessing all the time?" Karen nods. "In a way, yes. But it's more than that. He's trying to navigate a world that's not designed for his neurology."

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 11 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "But what if I do something wrong again?" Chip asks, his voice trembling with fear. "What if I make him sad without knowing?" Karen's gaze is steady. "Chip, we all make mistakes," she says, her voice filled with empathy. "What's important is that you learn from them. And when you do, you apologize sincerely." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looks at his dad, who's still not facing him. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says again. "I'll try to do better. I'll learn more about your autis–" But Plankton cuts him off. "Don't," he says, his voice low. "Just... just DON'T, Chip." Karen's heart breaks at the pain in her husband's voice. She squeezes his hand, her eyes pleading. "Plankton, let him apolog-" "NO!" Plankton says, his voice rising. "I can't do this right now." His body language is clear; his antennae are twitching rapidly, his shoulders hunched. Chip can see it now, the signs of his dad's overwhelm. "Dad, please," Chip says, reaching out to touch Plankton's arm. But his father flinches away, his body stiffening. Karen intervenes. "Chip, remember what we talked about?" she says firmly. "Your dad needs space right now. Give him some time." Chip nods, his screen filling with sorrow. He backs away slowly, giving Plankton the room he's asking for. Plankton's breaths are quick, his antennae twitching more than ever. Karen's heart aches as she watches their son retreat, the weight of their misunderstanding heavy in the air. She turns to Plankton, her voice soft. "Do you need anything, love?" "Just... some quiet," Plankton says. Karen nods, her hand still on his. "Okay," she said. Karen wraps her arms around him. He relaxes slightly, his body leaning into her embrace. "Hnnn," Plankton hums to himself as a stim. It's a low, almost imperceptible sound, but Karen knows; it's one of his stims, a way to self-soothe. She doesn't say anything, just holds him tighter. He starts to talk to himself again. "Some of it from, but I'm at home.." Karen doesn't interrupt; she just held him close. "Gonna be let to go.." In Karen's embrace, these words tumbled out. She doesn't try to shush him, doesn't ask him to be quiet. She just holds him gently. The next morning, Chip went into his parents bedroom. Karen's still sleeping in her bed, but Plankton was sitting up in his. The swelling in his cheeks has gone down, Chip noticed. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton looks over at his son, his antennae twitching slightly. "Good morning," Chip says. Plankton's eye meets his. "Hi, Chip," Plankton says, his voice soft. It's clear he's still upset. Chip swallows hard. "Can we, can I sit on your bed with you?" Plankton nods, his antennas still, and Chip sits down gently, his eyes on his dad's face. "I'm sorry," Chip says again. "I didn't know I was doing something wrong.. I won't do it again." Plankton sighs, his eye on the ceiling. "It's not about just that, Chip," he says. "It's about understanding. You can't just decide to be autistic, to understand what I go through." His voice cracks. Chip nods, his eyes wet. "I know," he says, his voice small. "But I want to try. I want to know more." Plankton looks over at him, his antennas twitching. "I see that," he says, his voice a little softer. "But it's not something you can put on or take off. It's part of me." Chip nods again, swiping at his eyes. "I know," he whispers. "But I want to help." Plankton sighs, his single eye still on the ceiling. "You can't help, Chip," he says, his voice a mix of resignation and frustration. "But you can learn. And you can respect." "What do you mean, respect?" Chip asks, his curiosity piqued. Plankton turns to face him, his antennae still. "It means giving me space when I need it," he says. "It means not making fun of the things I do!" Chip nods, his expression solemn. "Okay, I get that," he says. "But how do I know when you need space? Sometimes, I just wanna be with yo-" "JUST ASK," Plankton interrupts. "If you're not sure, just ask me!" Chip looks down at his hands, his thumbs fidgeting. "But what if you don't respond or ans-" "Then you wait," Plankton says, his voice firm. "You wait and you watch." Chip nods, his eyes on his father's face. "I'll learn," he says, his voice resolute. "Dad, I pro-" But Plankton interrupts again. "You'll learn by listening," he says. "When I say I need space, you respect that. When I don't look at you, you don't make me. When I'm upset, you don't make it a show!" Chip nods, his throat tight. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says again. "I'll do better. I'll learn." Plankton's antennae twitch, a sign of his emotions still running high. "You have to," he says, his voice cracking. Karen wakes up, noticing the tension in the room. She sits up, rubbing her eyes. "Everything okay?" she asks, her voice filled with concern. Plankton turns to her, his antennae slightly lifting. "We're... talking," Plankton says. Karen nods, looking at them both with pride. "That's good," she says, her eyes on Chip. Chip takes a deep breath, his eyes still on Plankton. "How do I know when you're upset?" he asks. "How do I know wh-" Plankton's antennae drop. "Look at me," he says, "ask me. Just... ASK." Chip nods, feeling the weight of his father's words. "Ok," he says. "I'll ask."

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 1 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton's autistic, which both he and his wife Karen knew. Chip, their son who they adopted at birth, doesn't know about his dad's neurodiverse. Plankton's stubborn pride made him want to keep his autistic sensitivities a secret between himself and Karen. One evening, after a long day of school, Chip stumbled upon a stash of Plankton's sensory tools, hidden behind Plankton's bed in his room he shared with Karen. Chip felt a strange curiosity tug at him. His dad's eating chum leftovers in the kitchen, so he needs to be quick! So Chip picked up a pair of noise-canceling headphones, a fidget, and a weighted blanket, wondering why they existed. The headphones were worn, as if used often. He looked around, his heart racing. The door creaked open, and Karen poked her head in, her eyes widening when she saw him. "Chip," she said, her voice soft but firm. "What are you doing?" Chip's gaze fell, and she sighed. "You found them," she murmured, knowing that the moment Plankton fears, had arrived. Karen took a deep breath, preparing herself for the conversation she'd been putting off for years. She closed the door behind her, sat down beside Chip, and took his hand. "Your dad has something called autism," she began gently. "It's not like a cold or a scraped knee. It's in his brain, and it's part of who he is." Chip's screen searched hers, trying to understand. "Is it bad?" he asked, his voice small. "What is that?" Karen's gaze softened as she looked at her son. "No, sweetie," she assured him, squeezing his hand. "It's not bad. It's just different. You know how sometimes you get really upset about things that other kids don't? Well, your dad's brain is like that too. Sometimes things are too loud or too bright for him, and these tools help keep him calm." Chip studied the fidget in his hand, rolling it between his fingers, feeling the smoothness of the plastic and the satisfying clicks as he twisted and turned it. "So, these help him not be upset?" he asked, his curiosity growing. Karen nodded. "Exactly. And sometimes, when your dad has to focus or when he's feeling anxious, these things can help him cope." Chip's curiosity grew. "But why does he keep it a secret?" he questioned, looking up at Karen with innocent eyes. Karen swallowed hard, knowing this was a part Plankton fears greatly. She chose her words carefully. "Some people might not understand what autism is, and they might treat him differently if they knew. Your dad is self conscious about it." "But why would they?" Chip's voice was filled with confusion. "He's still daddy, isn't he?" Karen's heart melted at his pure innocence. She knew that it was time to explain the complexities of the world and the prejudices that existed, even in their quirky underwater community. "Some folks don't know how to handle things that are different," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "They can be cruel even without meaning to be." Chip's gaze dropped to the fidget toy as he absorbed his mother's words. "But why doesn't daddy just tell them how he feels?" Karen took a moment before responding. "You know when you have a bad day at school, and you come home and tell us?" Chip nodded. "Well, it's like that for your dad, but with his brain. Sometimes, it's harder for him to explain. And he doesn't want people to think less of him." Chip's thoughts raced. He'd never seen his dad as anything but the strong, quirky man who always had a new invention or a wacky plan to share. The idea of him struggling was both foreign and heartbreaking. "But what do we do?" Chip's voice was earnest, his screen fixed on Karen's. She knew this was a chance to teach him about empathy and acceptance. "We support him," Karen replied firmly. "We love him just the way he is. And maybe, one day, he'll feel ready to tell you more himself." Chip twirled the fidget, the colors blurring into one as he thought about his dad. "I won't tell others," he said finally, looking up at Karen with a determination she hadn't seen in him before. The conversation lingered in the air between them, a newfound understanding blossoming in Chip's eyes. Karen knew that his innocence had been chipped away, but she also knew that his heart was growing stronger. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the rhythmic clicks of the fidget in Chip's hand. "Sweetie," Karen eventually said, nudging him gently. "Why don't you put these back where you found them? Your dad keeps those organized." Chip nodded, his expression serious as he placed the items back into their hidden spot. He knew that this was a secret that needed to be respected. Karen went out front to tend to the garden. Mean time, Plankton finished his eating. He found Chip on Karen's bed in the room he shared with her. "What are you doing in our room?" Plankton asked, oblivious to the fact that Chip now knew about his autism. Chip looked up, his gaze meeting Plankton's. "I'm just waiting for you," he said, hoping his voice didn't give him away. Plankton seemed to believe the answer, but his eye lingers on the bed for a moment. "Okay, buddy," Plankton said, curiosity piqued. "Need help with any homework or, is there something on your mind?" Chip took a deep breath. "Dad," he began, "Mom told me." Plankton looks at his son. "Told you what?" "About your... how, uh..." Chip swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat. What'd she call it again? "My what?" Plankton's face was a picture of confusion and then something else - fear, perhaps? - flashing across his features. Chip took a deep breath, his heart thumping in his chest. "Dad, Mom said you're a... a..." He stumbled over the word, unsure if it was right or not. "Ret-..." he spat out, the word feeling strange and heavy in his mouth. Plankton froze, the color draining from his face as the slur hit him like a slap in the face. His eye searched the room desperately, as if looking for an escape. But Chip merely shrugged. "It's just what Mom told me," he said. "It's what yo--" "Your mother," Plankton began, his voice sharp with emotion, "she said that?" Chip's eyes went wide, his screen a mix of surprise and confusion. "Yep, it's what Mom said you are," he replied. Plankton's body trembled with rage. The slur stung more than any insult he'd ever heard, and it came from his own son, and apparently his wife's. "I'm only repeating Mom," Chip says quickly, seeing the pain in his father's face. "She said that exact word." Plankton's fists clench. "I-I-I-I…" But Chip cuts him off. "That's the word she used," he says, his voice shaking. "But I don't get why you're so upset. It's just a word, right? Mom says it's who you are and always have been.." Plankton's heart sank deeper. He'd never heard his condition spoken of in such a derogatory way, not by anyone he loved. He took a deep breath, tears in his eye as Chip went into his own room.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 3 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton stiffens, his body not used to such unexpected contact. "No," he says, voice trembling. But Chip doesn't let go. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice small. "Mom says it's okay to be different. That you're not 'that word'. You're ju—" But Plankton can't hear it. The touch is too much. His nerves are on fire. He gently pushes Chip away, his voice shaking. "Chip," he says, "I... I need space right now." Chip looks at him, his face crumpled with sadness. "But Dad.." Karen's hand then squeezes his shoulder. "Chip," she says gently, interrupting his protest. "Let go." Chip does so. "Mom, I wa-" But Karen cuts him off. "Your dad's autism makes sense of touch tricky for him. Sometimes, it's too much. He doesn't want just everyone to touch him. Let him approach you, and perhaps he'll let you find a way that works for both of you." Chip nods, feeling his own throat tighten. He doesn't want to make his dad sad. He looks at Plankton. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye meets his, and he can see the pain there. He doesn't know how to fix this, but he's going to try. He takes a step back, giving his dad the space he needs. He nods. Karen watches, her heart heavy. She wishes she could take away the pain in Plankton's eye. Instead, she sits next to him, her arm around his shoulders in silent support. Plankton leans into her slightly. Chip, confused, doesn't know why his dad liked his mom's touch. She did the same thing that he just tried to do! Why does his dad let her, but not him? "Dad, why can't you allow me hug you if Mom ca-" But Karen cuts him off again, her voice gentle but firm. "Chip, remember what I said? Let Dad tell you if he's okay with that kind of touch. We found what works for us." Chip nods, his eyes down. "Okay," he says, feeling a little sad. He wants to show his dad he loves him, but doesn't want to make him feel bad. Karen knew Plankton didn't want their son to think that he doesn't love him. He just can't handle certain touch. "Chip," Karen says. "He expresses himself in his own ways. He does love you. Now why don't we all get some rest?" Plankton nods. "My dental x-rays are due tomorrow. Your mom will drive us.." Chip looks up. "Dentist?" Chip asks. "I thought touch..." "Chip, it's just x-rays. We all get them each year." Karen interrupts. "And they know about his neurodisability. We always remind them, to better accommodate his sensitivities." The next day, Karen wakes Chip up so they can get to the dental office early. Chip opens his eyes to the sight of his mom. "It's time to get going, Chip. You wanna come with me to wake your dad?" Chip nods. He follows her to their bedroom. Plankton's snoring lightly under the weighted blanket. Karen smiles. "Mom," Chip whispers. "How do you wake him up?" Karen looks down at her son. "Gently, honey," she says. "Your dad's sensitive to sudden sounds and lights." She tiptoed to Plankton's bed. Chip watches closely, his heart racing with excitement as Karen reaches out slowly. Her touch is light as she gently shakes Plankton's shoulder. His snores cut off abruptly as his eye opens. "Morning, love," Karen says, her voice soft. Plankton blinks slowly, the light from the open door making his eye squint. He sits up, the weighted blanket sliding off him. He looks at Karen, then at Chip standing behind her. He learned a lot about autism and how it affects his dad. The drive is quiet. No one says much. Chip sits in the back with a mix of excitement and trepidation. They arrive at the dental office, the staff patient and understanding. The receptionist greets them. "Good morning," she says with a smile. "We are almost ready for you!" Plankton nods. In the waiting room, Chip looks around. He's been here for his own x-ray appointments. He sits by Karen, who held Plankton's hand. The nurse, a friendly shrimp named Marta, smiled at Plankton. "Ready for your x-rays?" she asked. So they all followed her into the x-raying room. Plankton felt his anxiety rise as he saw the dental chair, the whirring machine, everything so... stark. Karen noticed his discomfort. "It's okay," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "You can do this." The nurse, seeing his distress, dimmed the lights and spoke to him calmly. "We're going to keep this quick as we can," she assured him. "And I'll let you know every step before we do it, ok?" Plankton nods. He understood routines. The nurse, Marta, moved efficiently, adjusting the chair, prepping the x-ray machine. Chip watches as his dad's eye follows each movement. "Ok, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "Open wide." Plankton does so, and she quickly snaps the x-ray. The room fills with a brief flash of light and a buzz. Plankton's body tenses, his eye flickering. "Good job," she says. The door opens, and in comes his dentist, Dr. Joyce. "Hello again Plankton! I see you've got x-rays!" Plankton nods. "It's all done," he says, his voice soothing. "Now, let's see how those teeth are doing." He holds up Plankton's x-rays to the light, studying them before projecting them onto the screen. Plankton watches as Dr. Joyce points out his wisdom teeth. "These guys will grow, and out of place," he says, tapping the screen. "They're impacted. We'll need to take them out, today." Plankton's breathing quickens. He wasn't ready for this. His mind starts to spiral. "No," he says, his voice cracking. "No, no no no..." Karen's grip tightens on his hand, her eyes full of concern. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers. "You can do it." But he's not listening. The words are just noise now. The room starts to spin. Plankton's heart races, his breath coming in quick gasps. He can feel his body shutting down, his mind racing with fear. "Can't," he stammers, "I can't..." Karen's eyes are wide with worry. She's seen this before, but never with Chip here. She quickly stands up, her hand on his arm. "Plankton, breathe," she whispers. "Slowly, in and out." But he's not listening. He's in his own world now. The nurse, Marta, steps back, giving them space. Chip feels his heart thumping in his chest. He's scared. His dad has never been like this. "Dad," he says, his voice small. "It's okay. We're here." But Plankton's staring at the wall, his body rigid. Karen keeps talking to Plankton, her voice soothing. "Look at me, honey," she says. "You're safe here." Chip watches, feeling powerless. He's never seen his dad like this. The room seems to shrink around him, the whirring of the x-ray machine echoing. Chip reaches out his hand, tentatively, placing it on Plankton's shoulder. But that's the last straw. With a yelp, Plankton pulls away, his whole body recoiling. Chip's eyes fill with tears. What did he do wrong? He just wanted to help. "Chip, no," Karen says, her voice firm. "Let me handle this." She turns to Marta, the nurse. "Can you take Chip back into the waiting room?" The nurse nods, gently guiding Chip out of the room. He looks back at his dad, his eyes now brimming with tears.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 2 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen, unaware of the mistranslation, went into the bedroom after gardening. She found her husband sitting on his bed, upset. "What's wrong, Plankton?" she asked, concerned. "You told..." Plankton couldn't even mention the word. The pain was fresh and raw. Karen's screen searched his face. "About your autism?" she said. "I only told him to help him underst--" "I know," Plankton interrupted, his voice shaking. "You said it, did you NOT?" Karen looked at him with confusion. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice gentle. "Plankton, I—" But Plankton was already getting to his feet, his body shaking with anger. "Enough," he managed to spit out. "You taught our son that word?!" Karen's eyes widened. "What word? Chip knows about your autism, yes." Plankton cut her off, his voice rising. "How could you? You think I'm a... a..." He couldn't even say it. Karen watched him, her confusion growing. "Plankton," she said, reaching out a tentative hand. "What's going on—" But Plankton shrugged her off. "You think so little of me?" he demanded. "You think I'm less than because my brain is structured differently?" Karen took a step back, alarmed by his reaction. "Plankton, what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice quivering. "I love you just the way you ar—" "Don't," he said, holding up a hand. "Don't say it. Don't lie to me." Karen looked at him, puzzled. "Chip didn't say anything bad.." Plankton's anger grew. "The word," he said, his voice shaking. "The one he said you used to describe me, is bad!" Karen's screen crumpled in confusion. "What word?" she asked again, her voice smaller this time. "What did Chip say?" Plankton's anger didn't waver. "The one that ends with 'd'!" he snapped. "How could you use that word for me?!" Karen's eyes searched his, still not understanding. "I don't know what word you're talking about," she asked, her own eyes filling with tears. "I only told Chip about your autism that's all." Plankton felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Could she really not know? He took a deep breath, his voice trembling. "The word, Karen," he said. "The one that starts with 'r' and ends with 'd'‽" Karen's screen went pale. The realization dawned on her. "Oh, no," she whispered. "Plankton; no. That's not what I told Chip. I never say that word." She searched his eye, desperate. "I didn't even know Chip knew of that word!" Plankton's fury began to subside. "But he said you told him," he replied, his voice still shaking. "He used it." Karen's screen filled with sorrow. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Plankton, I'll talk to him, I'll explain.." Plankton nodded, his anger fading into a deep sadness. He knew Karen would never deliberately hurt him. "My bad," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I j-just need some time alone." He turned away, his shoulders slumping. Karen felt her heart break for him. She knew the power of words, and the sting of that particular slur. She wished she could take it back, but she knew she couldn't. Instead, she left the room, lettting Plankton have his space to process his emotions. In the quiet, Plankton's mind raced. He thought of all the times he'd hidden his autism, the efforts he'd made to fit in. Now, his son thought of him as 'that word'. The weight of his pride suddenly felt unbearable. "To clean up," Karen heard Plankton mumble. It's one of his stims, to talk to no one in particular. That he didn't like to be bothered whenever he engages in his self-talk. Karen went into Chip's room, finding him on his own bed. She felt upset. "Chip," she began, her voice quiet but firm. "Your dad.. What did you say to him?" Chip looked up, his screen innocent. "I just said what you told me," he said. "That he's a..." But Karen cut him off. "Chip, honey," she said, her voice trembling. "What EXACT word did I use about your dad?" Chip frowned, thinking back. "You said he's autistic," he said, his screen meeting hers. "But dad's upset," he asks, looking confused. Karen's eyes filled with sorrow. She took a deep breath, knowing this was the moment to set things right. "Chip," she said, "I told you that your dad has autism, but I didn't say that word. That's a bad word, a word we don't use." Chip looked at her, his confusion clear. "But it's like, the same thing," he protested. "No," Karen said firmly, sitting down beside him. "That word is NOT the same as autism. It's a mean word that some people say to hurt others. It's not who your dad is. He's SMART. And autism is a spectrum; some autistics don't even talk! But that term is offensive, bullying. It's not okay. Those with CONDITIONS like, say learning differences, are what's called neurodisabled." Chip's eyes widened as he processed this. "So, dad's like... super special?" he asked. Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "In a way. Some people might say their condition is a super power, usually younger people when trying to explain it. But your dad isn't os open about his autism, and he might feel made fun of if you say that. Make sure to ask before you assume so you know how the person likes to be referred." Chip's eyes searched his mother's screen, trying to understand. "So, like, I can't call him special?" Karen chuckled despite the tension that still lingered. "Depends on the context," she replied. "But it's not up to us when it comes to his preferences. We can advocate for his needs by asking if he needs help. Otherwise, don't tell him how he should or shouldn't be. It's not his choice, but it takes strength to recognize when a person's reached their limit. All feelings are valid, even if they're not always pretty. Even if he can't show the same way we do." Chip really didn't fully understand, but he knew his dad was upset. And he wanted to fix it. He slid off the bed and took Karen's hand. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt Dad. I wanna make it right!" Karen's heart swelled with love for her son. "Thank you, Chip," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Why don't we go talk to him?" So Karen leads Chip to the bedroom she shared with Plankton. He's on his bed, rocking while hugging his knees. Stimming. "Dad?" Chip says tentatively, his heart racing. Plankton looks up, his eye red. Plankton's gaze meets Chip's, and the weight of his son's question hangs in the air. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Whaddya want?" he responds, voice strained. Then Chip makes the mistake of hugging him.

𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖪 𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 Pt. 9 (@𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Rawr?" Chip says, trying to force a smile. "Doi." Plankton's expression goes from pained to bewildered. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice strained. Chip's heart is in the right place, but his execution is way off. "Just... just uhm– I mean, duh!" Chip says, his voice hopeful, contorting his face. "Look at me! I've got the 'tism!" Plankton's eye widens, his confusion morphing into something akin to horror. But Chip's on a roll, his stims now more frantic, his body mirroring Plankton's in a clumsy attempt at solidarity. "I'm an autie, and I'm okay!" Chip says, his voice high-pitched and forced. But Plankton's not laughing. "Chip, stop," he says, his voice strained. The pain in his jaw has been replaced by a different kind of pain—one of humiliation. Chip's mimicry feels like a mockery. "That's not right," Plankton mutters, but Chip's just getting started. "Look at me, I can even do the eye thing!" Chip says, his pupil darting back and forth in an exaggerated imitation of the seizure he'd seen earlier. Plankton's face twists in discomfort. "Chip, stop it," Plankton says, his voice strained. "That's not funny." But Chip's laughing, his ignorance blinding him to the hurt he's causing. "But Dad, you do it all the time!" he says, his voice too loud. Plankton starts to put his hands to his head. But Chip beats him to it. "Look, I can even cover my ears, like you!" Chip says. Plankton lowers his hands. "Waa! WAHH!" Chip screeched, making Plankton put his hands to his head again. Chip's trying to be supportive, but his actions are anything but. "Chip," Plankton says, his voice tight, "That's not funny." But Chip doesn't hear him. He's too busy flapping his arms. "Stop it," Plankton snaps again, his voice louder. Chip's expression falters. "What?" he asks, his voice small. "You're making fun of me," Plankton said, his voice low. Then Karen walks in. "I've finished with the garden..." Karen starts, but then sees Plankton looking upset. What happened while she was out? Was it the pain from his wisdom teeth? But this seems deeper. "Plankton," she says concerned, walking over to the bed. "Why, what's wrong?" She sees Plankton's eye filling with unshed tears. Chip stops smiling. Plankton's voice cracks. "Chip's mocking me," he whispers, the pain in his jaw seemingly forgotten. Karen's heart clenches. "What do you mean? Chip, just... just sit down. Sit by me and your dad." Chip's face falls. He realizes his mistake. "Dad, I didn't mean to make fun," he says, his voice genuine. "I just thought if I did it too, it'd make you feel less alone." Karen looks at them, confused. "So what happened? Either of you can tell me.." Plankton takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. "Chip was just, I dunno," he says, his voice strained. "I must deserve it, then." Chip's eyes widen. "No, Dad, I wasn't making fun of you!" But the words come too late. Plankton's face crumples and he begins to cry with silent sobs. The sight of his father's tears hits Chip like a ton of bricks. He didn't know his dad could be so fragile. He didn't know his actions could cause so much pain. He moves closer, his own eyes filling. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sor—" "Chip," Karen says. "What happened, while I was in the garden? Tell me what he means." Her voice was even. "What's this about making fun? Tell me, Chip." Chip sits by the bed, his head down. "I—I was just trying to... to help, Mom," he says. "I was trying to show him I underst--" "CHIP; I'm asking. What. Did. You. DO?" Karen interrupts. "I saw his stims and I thought if I did it too, it'd make him happy," Chip says, his voice shaking. "But he said it's not funny. Then he put his hands up to his head, so I did the same and got loud when he took his hands down so I could see him do it again and do it with him. And now he's crying." Karen's heart aches for her husband, but she needs to address this with their son. "Chip," she says, her voice calm. "Stimming is a way for your dad to regulate his emotions and sensory input. It's not something to mock or copy. It's personal and private." Chip's face falls. "I didn't know," he murmurs. "I just wanted to make him feel better." Plankton's sobs continue, his body shaking. Karen is still beside him, wrapping her arms around him. "It's okay," she whispers. "It's okay." Her hand gently brushes his swollen cheek, wiping away her husband's tears. Chip's own eyes are wet, his heart heavy with guilt. He didn't mean to make his dad cry. He simply didn't understand. He looks at Plankton, his eyes wide with remorse. "Dad, I'm so sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt yo--" "Get out!" Plankton screams, his pain overwhelming. "I can't take you anymore, Chip!" The room seems to shrink with his father's distress. Chip jumps up, his eyes wide with fear and sadness. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to hurt you." But the apology is lost in Plankton's anguish. Karen holds her husband tighter, her own eyes misting with sympathy. She sees the hurt in her son's eyes, but she knows this is what's best for her Plankton. "Chip," she says, interrupting gently. "You give Dad some space tonight, okay?" Her voice is firm but kind. She knows Plankton needs this, needs to process without the threat of more stimulation or upset. Chip nods, his screen still on his dad, his heart aching. He's knows he's upset his dad, and now he needs to back off. "Okay," he says, his voice small. Once Chip retreats to his own room, Karen turns to Plankton. "We love you. So, so much. Chip was misguided. I think this evening, you and Chip need space from each other. I know I can't stand to see your beautiful eye cry. But if you need to cry it out, I'll be here. Or if you want to be alone to do so, I will understand." Karen kisses Plankton's forehead. Plankton looks up at his wife. "Thank you, my sweets. I wanna continue to be in your embrace for right now." He wipes a tear from his eye. Karen nods. "Oh yes, of course," she says, her arms tightening around his shoulders. "We can talk to Chip tomorrow, once you're feeling better." She kisses his forehead again, her heart aching for the both of them. The next day, Plankton is feeling better; the swelling in his jaw has gone down a bit, and his mind is clearer. He knows he needs to talk to Chip about what happened, but the thought fills him with anxiety.

As a neurodivergent person I find emojicombos.com a favourite site. I also write here to make others happy and to make stories inspired by events similar to my experiences, so I can come back to them on any device to. Also, I hope any person reading has a great day! -NeuroFabulous (my search NeuroFabulous)

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[ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅̌ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅ ̲̅  ̲̅ ] /l\ /\

hopefully my writing posts help ppl to feel understood or at least get a glimpse of all the possibilities neurodiverse ppl may experience (: (my search NeuroFabulous)

DOCTORs APPOINTMENTs Before a procedure, get to meet the physician and acknowledge their authority before you mention your sensitivities. Find a way to make a compromise. Even request more time for an appointment if you want to have topical numbing agents wait to work, to discuss alternatives, etc. Before a procedure, look up the physician and/or the clinic website. Find pictures of the inner building and search for FAQ, policies, procedures, reviews, etc. Before a procedure, bring a fully charged phone and any sensory necessities such as plastic cups for water, ice pack, self testing kits, written notes and copies, etc. TIPS For CHECKs Feel the instruments and get comfortable with them. Ex: at the dentist, you’re weary of the suction straw. If no plastic cups for rinsing, ask them for some or, have them turn the suction on a low setting and feel it with your finger before they use it in your mouth. Perhaps they can put something on if you don’t like the sucking noise. See how you feel with the specific doctor. Ex: Dr. A seems hurried and strict, but Dr. B seems more empathetic. Or perhaps ask if a nurse can be in the room with you to. Try having the doctor teach you how much you can do. Ex: for a strep throat test, ask if you can swab your own throat, even have them hold your hand whilst you do it in a mirror. Or tell them the way your throat’s structure may find it easier to tilt, etc. (my search NeuroFabulous)

Karen had always loved her husband Plankton. His mind was a bastion of order in a world that often seemed too noisy and chaotic for him. Plankton had a way of seeing patterns and connections that she never could. He'd spend hours meticulously categorizing his collections. It was his way of making sense of the world, a comforting rhythm she learned to appreciate. But today was one of those days where Plankton's brain seemed to betray him. It was a silent, unassuming morning until Plankton froze. His eye glazes over, and his body stiffened like a plank. Karen's heart skipped a beat, knowing all too well what was happening. Her mind raced as she quickly took action. She guided him to the safe spot they'd designated for these moments, a corner padded with cushions and devoid of sharp edges. His body began to convulse, a symphony of uncontrolled movements that didn't match the calmness of the surroundings. She felt her own heart race, her palms sweating, but she knew she had to be his rock, his anchor. Suddenly his friend Sponge Bob came in; he's never seen nor heard of Plankton like this before. "What's happening to him?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice quivering with concern. Karen took a deep breath. "He has autistic seizures," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's like his brain gets overwhelmed with stimuli, and it just... short-circuits." SpongeBob's eyes widened beyond belief, taking in the scene before him. Plankton's tiny frame jerked and tremored. It was a stark contrast to the precise, orderly Plankton he knew. "Is he okay?" Sponge Bob stammered, his hands waving in the air, unsure what to do. "Just stay calm," Karen instructed, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "These usually pass quickly. I need to make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She moved swiftly, carefully placing pillows under his head. Sponge Bob nodded, his concern growing as he watched his friend suffer. He wished he could do something, anything to help. "Can I talk to him?" he asked tentatively, his thumbs tucked into his pants, fidgeting. "It's better to let him be," Karen advised gently. "He can't process much during this. But once it's over, you can." When Plankton's convulsions finally ceased, his body limp, and his eye flutters closed. Karen checked his pulse, sighing in relief when she found it steady and strong. She looked up at Sponge Bob, her expression a mix of worry and fatigue. "Just be there for him when he wakes up," Karen said. "He'll be disoriented. He might not understand what happened." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for Plankton, trapped in his own mind during these episodes. As Karen tended to Plankton, Sponge Bob felt a surge of curiosity. With a newfound determination, Sponge Bob turned to Karen, his eyes brimming with hope. "Could he maybe like... can he understand me now?" Karen looked at Plankton, still twitching, but clearly drained. She nodded slowly. "He can hear you. Just keep it simple and soothing." Sponge Bob approached cautiously, his eyes fixed on his friend. He knelt down and took Plankton's hand in his spongy grip. "Plankton," he whispered, "It's me, Sponge Bob. You're safe now." Plankton's eyelid fluttered, a hint of recognition flickering across his face. Karen offered Sponge Bob a small, grateful smile. She knew how much Plankton valued his friendship. Sponge Bob cleared his throat, his words gentle and measured. "Remember when we played catch with jellyfish?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the best at catching them, Plankton. Your reflexes are so fast, it's like you're a jellyfish ninja." Karen smiles. Plankton's eye is open, but unfocused, as if looking through Sponge Bob instead of at him. His pupil is dilated, and his gaze is distant. Sponge Bob's heart swells with a mix of hope and concern. "Plankton?" he calls again, a little louder this time. No response, just the slightest twitch. He's there, but not really. Karen watches closely, a silent guardian making sure her husband doesn't slip back into the chaos that had consumed him. The room feels eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of sounds that filled their lives. Karen's eyes are filled with love and fear, a potent mix that's all too familiar. She's seen this before, Plankton's mind retreating into itself when the world becomes too much. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand, trying to ground him in reality, but his friend's hand is cold and limp. "You know, Plankton," he starts again, his voice quivering slightly, "you're like a tiny superhero with a giant brain. Nothing gets past you." Then, as if a switch was flipped, Plankton's body starts to jerk again, but this time, the movements aren't the violent convulsions of a seizure. They're smaller, faster - tics. His head tilts quickly. Karen's eyes narrow slightly as she recognizes the signs. This was a common aftermath of his seizures, his brain's way of recalibrating itself. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice a gentle melody that pierced through the tension. "Just ride it out." Karen's eyes never leave his, her gaze a silent promise of protection and patience. She knew these tics were a part of his autism, a way for his body to cope with the overwhelming input. It was as if the world was too loud for him, and his body had found its own rhythm to try to drown out the noise. The tics grew more frequent, his head jerking in quick, spasmodic movements. Sponge Bob's grip tightens on his hand, his own heart racing. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew his friend needed him now more than ever. Karen's voice remained soothing, a constant in the storm of Plankton's neurological maelstrom. "It's okay," she said softly. "Let it happen." Sponge Bob watched, his eyes wide with concern. He'd never seen his friend like this before. The tics grew in intensity, Plankton's head snapping to a nod, his limbs twitching erratically. It was like watching a tiny, trapped bird, desperately trying to find its way out of a cage made of its own nervous system. "It's okay," Karen repeated, her voice a beacon of calm in the chaos. "These are just his tics. They're part of his autism. It's his brain's way of adjusting after a seizure." Sponge Bob nodded, trying to absorb the information. He'd known Plankton for years but had never known or seen him like this. Then Plankton's eye focused on Sponge Bob. A flicker of recognition sparked in the depths. "Sp...Sponge Bob?" he stuttered, his voice weak and tremulous. Sponge Bob's smile grew wider, relieved to hear his friend's voice. "Hey, buddy," he said. Plankton's head continued to twitch in a nodding motion, his eye blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on Sponge Bob's face. The tics were less intense now, but they were still present, a subtle reminder of the storm that had raged within him moments ago. Karen knew that this was the part where he'd start to come back to them. Karen explained, "The tics can last for a bit, but he'll be back to normal soon." Sponge Bob nodded, his grip on Plankton's hand steadying as he watched his friend's eye refocus. He didn't understand it, but he knew Plankton needed time. As the tics began to subside, Plankton's hand squeezed Sponge Bob's in weak acknowledgment. Sponge Bob felt a wave of relief crash over him. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice quiet and reassuring. Plankton's breathing grew more even, his body finally relaxing. The twitches gradually slowed until they were barely noticeable. It was like watching a tightly wound clockwork toy slowly unwinding. Karen reached over to stroke Plankton's arm, her touch feather-light. "You're going to be okay," she said. (my search NeuroFabulous)

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 3 by NeuroFabulous Plankton's stims grew more pronounced, his mouth moving rapidly, producing a series of sounds that didn't form words. "Kkr-kr-kr-kr," he murmured, his eye squeezed shut tightly. Chip felt his own heart race, but he also felt a strange sort of fascination with his dad's behavior. Karen knew that Plankton was trying to regain control over his senses. This verbal stimming was a way for his brain to reset, to find comfort in the repetition and rhythm of the sounds. But Chip didn't know what was happening. He watched his dad with a mix of fear and curiosity. The "kr-kr-kr" sounds grew louder, more erratic. Karen knew this was the moment they had been dreading, the moment when they would have to explain everything to Chip. But she also knew that Plankton's fear was real, his need for control overwhelming. So she waited, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Chip stared at his dad, unsure of what to do. The sounds were both fascinating and scary, his young mind trying to process the scene before him. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never seen him like this. Plankton's stimming grew louder, his mouth moving faster. "Tss-tss-tss-tsss," he repeated. "Shc-shc-shcss," his tongue dancing around his mouth. Karen recognized the patterns, the sounds he made when he was overstimulated and trying to ground himself. Her eyes filled with love and understanding, she gently guided Chip to the bed. "Come sit with us, sweetie," she said, patting the mattress. "Let's talk about what's happening." Chip climbed onto the bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face as he continued his strange pattern of sounds. "Dad," Chip whispered, "are you okay?" But Plankton didn't respond, his vocalizations now increasing in volume and speed. "Ck-ck-ck-ck," he repeated. "Hx-hx-hx-hx." Chip's eyes were wide with unyielding curiosity as his dad continues to rock back and forth. Karen looked at her son, seeing the question marks in his eyes. "Your dad is okay," she assured him, keeping her voice steady. "He's just making sounds that help him feel better right now." Chip studied his dad's face, his curiosity outweighing his fear. "But why?" he asked. Karen took a deep breath, knowing this was a delicate moment. "Dad's brain works different, remember?" she explained, trying to keep her voice steady. "Sometimes, his body does things, even without his permission, to help him feel safe." But Chip was still scared. He didn't understand why his dad was so upset. He had only wanted to help. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched his dad rock back and forth, making those strange noises. Karen reached over, taking Plankton's hand, her voice soothing. "It's okay," she whispered. "You don't have to hide anymore." Plankton flinched at her touch, his stims becoming more erratic. "Chip, your dad just needs a little more time," she explained. "He's not mad at yo--" "YES, I AM MAD!" Plankton interrupted, his voice sharp. "Why does Chip think he can just barge in and see me like this?! You're not supposed to be in here!" The room was thick with tension as Chip's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to scare y—" "You didn't scare me," Plankton snapped, his anger sharp. "But you just had to go poking around, didn't you!" Karen felt a squeeze of fear in her heart, but she knew this was not the time to interfere. "Plankton," she said calmly, "Chip was just worried about you." Plankton's anger didn't abate. "I don't need his pity!" he shouted, his stims turning into a full-blown meltdown. His body is now no longer his own. Chip shrank back, his innocence shattered by his father's rage. He had never seen Plankton like this before, had never felt so unwanted or so afraid. "I just wanted to help," he whispered, his voice barely audible. But Plankton was beyond reason. His autism is now taking over, turning violent as Chip approached with an outstretched hand. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Plankton bellowed, pushing Chip away with surprising strength. The small boy stumbled back, his eyes wide. Karen's eyes filled with concern as she watched her son's face crumble. "Chip, sweetie, go to your room," she said gently, trying to shield him from Plankton's fury. But Chip couldn't move, his legs frozen to the spot. Karen knew she had to intervene before things got worse. She moved quickly, placing herself between Plankton and Chip. "Chip, go to your room," she ordered gently, her voice firm but not harsh. "We'll talk about this later, okay?" Chip nodded, his eyes still on his father's distressed form. He turned and left the room, his small feet dragging against the floor as he walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Karen alone with her husband's meltdown. Karen's heart broke for him, but she knew she had to get through to him. "Plankton," she said, her voice firm but kind, "Chip loves you. He was just sc-" But Plankton's meltdown was in full swing. He was beyond the point of reason, his voice a mix of stims and rage. "I DON'T WANT HIS PITY!" he screamed, his fists clenching the bed sheets. His stims were no longer calming; they were a manifestation of his distress. Karen felt a knot in her stomach as she watched her husband's breakdown. Her heart was torn between soothing him and protecting Chip. But she knew that Plankton's anger wasn't just directed at their son. It was at the world, at his condition, at the fear of being discovered. "Plankton," she said firmly, "look at me." She waited until his eye met hers. "Your autism is a part of who you are, and it doesn't make you any less of a person." Her words seemed to pierce his rage. He took a shaky breath, his body gradually stilling. "I just... I don't want him to see this," he murmured. The anger left his voice, leaving behind a raw vulnerability. Karen reached out gently touching his arm. "Chip isn't scared of you," she assured. "He's scared for you. And we need to talk to him about what's going on." Plankton's eye searched hers, filled with a mix of doubt and fear. "What i-if h-he’s ashamed of me?" his voice was barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes softened, her touch gentle. "Chip could never be ashamed," she said firmly. "He loves you just the way you are. Now, let's go talk to him."

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY v (By NeuroFabulous) Karen held Plankton tightly, his sobs shaking both of them. "It's okay," she murmured, stroking his back. "You're still my husband. You're still Chip's dad." Her voice was a salve to his soul, but the wound was deep. In Chip's room, the silence was deafening. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He had never meant to hurt Plankton like that. He had just wanted his dad to be like everyone else's. He didn't understand why it had to be so hard. Outside, the sound of Karen trying to comfort Plankton's sobs drifted under the door, each one a knife in Chip's heart. He had never heard his dad cry before, and it made him feel like the biggest jerk in the sea. What had he done? He didn't want Plankton to go anywhere. He just wanted all to be okay. He sat on his bed, his eyes blurring with tears as he tried to piece together what had just happened. His mind raced with thoughts of his dad, his hero, his rock, now a crumbling mess in his mother's arms. He couldn't bear to think of the pain he had caused. He stood up, his legs shaking slightly as he approached the door. Karen looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and tired, but filled with a fierce love that never wavered. Plankton was still sobbing into her shoulder, his body trembling with the force of his pain. Chip felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest tight with regret. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice small and shaky. "I didn't mean it. I just..." But the words trailed off, his throat thick with unshed tears. Karen looked up at him, her eyes brimming with a mix of love and disappointment. "Chip," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "you need to understand. Your dad can't just turn his autism off." She took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving Chip's. "And we love him just the way he is." Plankton's body convulsed with each sob, his fear palpable in the tiny room. He had always known his condition set him apart, but to hear his son say such things... It was more than he could bear. Karen looked at Chip, her expression a mix of anger and sadness. "Chip, what you said was hurtful," she began, her voice shaking with emotion. "But you need to know that your dad's autism is just part of who he is." Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his body slowly calming down as he heard Karen's words. He knew she was right, but the fear remained, a cold knot in his stomach. Fear of rejection, fear of being seen as a burden, fear of losing the ones he loved most. Chip's eyes were glued to the floor, the weight of his words pressing down on him like a heavy stone. He felt like a monster, a creature that had lashed out without thought for the consequences. He took a tentative step forward. "Dad," he whispered, his voice choking with tears. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it." Plankton's convulsions slowly subsided, his body still tense against Karen's embrace. His eye was closed tightly, as if trying to block out the painful reality. Plankton's convulsions grew less intense, his body slowly relaxing into Karen's embrace. His breathing was ragged, his antennas quivering slightly with each exhale. The look in his eye spoke volumes, a swirl of emotions that seemed to mirror the turmoil in Chip's own heart. The room was a stark contrast to the chaotic underwater world outside, the silence interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from Plankton. Karen's gaze never left Chip's face, her expression a mix of love and disappointment. "Your father's autism is a part of him, Chip," she continued, her voice measured. "It's like his brain has its own language, and sometimes it's hard for him to translate it to ours. But that doesn't make him any less of a person, or any less of a dad." Chip felt a knot in his stomach, his regret growing with every word Karen said. He had never thought about it like that before—his dad wasn't broken or weird, just different. And he had hurt him so badly. "But I just want him to be normal," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why ca--" "Normal?" Plankton's voice was harsher than Chip had ever heard it. He pulled away from Karen, his eye blazing with a fierce intensity. "Chip, maybe you're the one who needs to leave.." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a plea. "This isn't helping." But Plankton's face was a mask of pain and anger. Chip's heart raced, his dad's words cutting deeper than any insult he had ever heard. "Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it." But Plankton was beyond reason, his emotions a swirling maelstrom of anger and hurt. "Get out," he said, his voice cold and final. Karen's eyes widened with shock, but she knew better than to argue with him when he was like this. She stood, carefully setting Plankton aside. He didn't move, just sat there, his body rigid with pain. "Come on, Chip," she said gently, her hand on his shoulder. "Let's give your dad some space." Chip's eyes were filled with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of his father's pain. He didn't know what to do, his mind racing with fear and regret. He allowed Karen to lead him out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving Plankton alone with his thoughts.

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 2 by NeuroFabulous Karen knew that Plankton's autism came with challenges, and one of those was dealing with sensory overload. Her hand remained steady on Plankton's back, knowing to͠uch was always either a comfort or a trigger. Plankton's breathing began to even out, and she could see the tension slowly drain from his body. Karen looked over at Chip, his eyes still filled with uncertainty. She knew it was time to explain. "Chip," she said, her voice calm and steady, "Dad has something that makes his brain work a little differently than ours. It's called autism." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "What's that, Mom? What does autism mean?" Karen took a deep breath. "It means that Dad's brain processes things in a way that's different from most people's," she explained. "Sometimes, his brain gets really tired from trying to make sense of the world, and his body has to take a little break." Chip nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. "So, like his brain needs to reboot?" "Exactly," Karen said with a gentle smıle. "And when it does, we have to be extra careful and quiet. It's like when your phone freezes up, and you give it some patience to figure things out." Then Plankton's eye blinks, now focusing. The world slowly came back to Plankton. He saw Karen beside him, her screen filled with relief and love. "Whaa-" He stuttered, his body still feeling heavy. He noticed Chip, his son, sitting on the bed, looking at him with wide eyes and tears streaking down his face. "Ch-Chip?" Plankton managed to croak. The sight of his son's presence told him that he'd been watching. Chip's eyes widened, hope filling his voice as he called out again, "Dad!" Plankton winced. Karen reached for Chip, pulling him into a side hug. "Remember, sweetie, we need to be calm and quiet for Dad. He's coming back." Plankton blinked rapidly, his senses slowly returning. He looked at his son, then at his wife, feeling a mix of emotions - fear, guilt, exposed, understanding, mortification. Suddenly, a tic took over. His face scrunched up involuntarily. Chip had never seen his dad do this before! "It's okay," Karen whispered quickly to Chip, sensing his alarm. "Sometimes, Dad's brain needs to do little things to get all the energy out. It's just a part of his autism." "Kkr-kr-kr-kr," Plankton stims. Chip leaned in, his eyes still full of unshed tears. "You okay, Da-" "I'm fi-fi-fine," Plankton interrupted, his voice still stuttering. Karen turns to their son. "Chip, sometimes Dad's brain needs to make little noises or movements to get all the extra energy out." He had managed to keep this part of himself hidden from his son for so long, and now, here he was, exposed and vulnerable in front of him. Chip studied his dad's tics closely. Plankton's eye was blinking rapidly, and his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, creating a staccato. Chip leaned closer, trying to mimic the sound with his own mouth. "You sound like a dolphin! How do-" "Chip," Plankton interrupted, his voice tight with anger and self consciousness, "that's ENOUGH, so STOP IT." The sharpness of Plankton's tone cut through the room, silencing Chip's curiosity. He hadn't meant to upset his dad. He just wanted to make him feel better. The twitches and noises of his tics had now stopped, but the tension was palpable. "I-I'm sorry, Dad," Chip stuttered, his voice small. Tears glistened in his eyes. Karen looked at Plankton with concern. "Honey," she began gently, "we need to talk to Chip about this. He doesn't know what's happe—" "I KNOW what's happening!" Plankton snapped, cutting her off. His anger was palpable. "He doesn't need to see this!" The room fell silent except for the sound of Plankton's quick, shallow breaths. Karen swallowed hard, knowing that she had to handle this situation with care. But Plankton didn't want his son to see him like this, so out of control. "Get out!" he shouted at Chip. "I don't want you here!" His voice was raw, his emotions spilling over. Chip's eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open in a gasp. He had never seen his dad so angry before. His heart was racing, his own chest tight with fear. "But, Dad-" he began. "I said get̴ out!" Chip scurried away, his feet thumping on the floor as he rushed to leave. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in the hallway. He leaned against the wall, his breaths coming in quick, sharp gasps. Tears rolled down Chip's screen as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. His dad had never yells at him like that. He felt a pang of hurt, but also fear. What had he done wrong? He just wanted to help. Karen stepped out of the room, leaving Plankton alone with his guilt. She knelt down beside Chip, pulling him into a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Dad didn't mean to scare you. He's just overwhelmed." Chip sniffled, his eyes still on the closed door. "But why is he so mad?" he asked, his voice small and shaky. Karen sighed. "He's not mad at you, Chip. He's just scared and confused. Sometimes his brain gets too much information, and it's hard for him to handle it all." Chip looked up at his mom, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "But why did he tell me to leave?" Karen took a deep breath. "Chip, your dad loves you so much," she said, her voice soft and gentle. "But sometimes his autism makes him feel things really intensely. He's not mad at you, he's just upset because he didn't want you to see him like that. Sometimes, when people with autism get overwhelmed, their emotions can come out in big ways, even when they don't mean to scare us." Chip wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "But why doesn't he tell me about it?" he asked, his voice quivering. "Why does it have to be a secret?" Karen sighed heavily. "Because sometimes, people feel embarrassed or scared to talk about things that make them different." She rubbed his back soothingly. "But now that you know, we can help him feel less alone." Chip nodded, but his heart was still racing. He didn't understand why his dad couldn't just tell him. "But he was so angry," he murmured. Karen nodded, her eyes sad. "I know it's hard, but it's important we talk to him about it," she said. "We need to let him know we're here for him." They both took deep breaths, preparing themselves for the conversation ahead. They walked back into the room, where Plankton still sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "Plankton," Karen began, her voice soft. "We need to talk to him about your autism." But Plankton was still too lost in his own head to listen. He sat there, his antennae twitching rapidly, his body swaying slightly. He was in his own world. Karen watched him, her heart aching. She knew his anger wasn't directed at Chip, but at himself, his own limitations. She also knew that this was the best time to start the conversation they had been avoiding. "Plankton," she said softly. "We need to tell Chip about what your autis–" "NO!" Plankton shouted, his stims escalating. "It's none of his business!" He shouts, looking at Chip. Chip's eyes widened at his dad's outburst. He had never seen him like this. Karen's grip on Chip's hand tightened, but she didn't move to leave. "Plankton," she said, her voice calm, but firm, "Chip found you. He's already seen i---" "I DIDN'T WANT HIM TO SEE!" Plankton's voice was sharp, his body shaking slightly. "I DON'T WANT HIM TO KNOW ANYMORE!" The words echoed in the room, each one a dull thud to Karen's heart. Plankton's stims were more pronounced now, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in a rapid, nervous pattern. "Kkr-kr-kr," he repeated, his eye squeezed shut. Chip watched, his small chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He had never seen his dad like this, so out of control. But his fear was now mingled with curiosity. "What's happening, Mom?" he whispered. "It's okay, sweetie," Karen assured him, her voice still calm despite the tension in the room. "Dad's just trying to make sense of everything. Sometimes, people with autism do things called stims to help them cope."

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 1 by NeuroFabulous Karen and her husband Plankton adopted Chip as a newвorn. Chip is a good kid, but he doesn't know that his mom and dad kept a secret, which is Plankton's autism. Plankton was only comfortable with Karen knowing of it. She knew all his different tics, his stims, nonepileptic seizures; but Plankton's unsure of sharing it with his son. His pride made him not want others to ever find out! But one day, that all changed, for Chip found out the hard way. He stumbled upon his dad having an absence seizure, not knowing what it meant, what was happening. Karen was out front gardening when Chip went into his parents bedroom to the sight of Plankton on his bed. He sat rigidly stiff, his unblinking eye unseeing. "Dad?" Chip called out, his voice trembling with fear. He had never seen his father like this before. Plankton didn't respond, lost in his moment of absence. Cautiously, Chip approached the bed. With trembling fingers, he gently squeezed his dad's shoulder. "Dad?" he repeated. No reply. Panic began to set in, his heart racing. "Dad, wake up!" Chip shouted, his voice cracking with worry. Chip tried to shake his dad gently, but Plankton remained motionless. He was scared, unsure. He doesn't know about seizures, let alone absence seizures. "Dad, please," he whispered, his voice quivering. He didn't know what to do. The room felt eerie, as if the air had become thick and stıll. Chip looked around desperately, his eyes searching for anything that might explain what was happening. He saw a picture of the family on the bedside table. The happy faces in the picture seemed to contrast sharply with the scene before him. He tried to shake his dad a little more forcefully this time. "Wake up, Dad!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet room. The fear was now turning into desperation. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he sat on the bed beside his dad. He took Plankton's hand in his own. "Dad," he whimpered. Nothing. He decided to try talking to him, maybe it would help bring him back. "Dad, it's me, Chip. Remember when we went to the beach last summer and you taught me to build sandcastles?" His voice was shaky, but he continued, "You said I was the best sand sculptor you've ever seen. Remember the seagulls that kept stealing our snacks?" Yet Plankton remained motionless. The silence grew heavier, pressing down on Chip like a weıght he couldn't lift. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. "Dad, please come back," he begged, shaking his father's arm. He didn't know to wait it out, ending up sending Plankton deeper into his overload, his eye even more vacant. Chip's thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear. "What if he's hurt?" He whispered to himself. He knew he had to tell his mom. But what could she do? Would she be mad if he did something wrong? Besides he didn't want to leave his dad alone. "Dad, I love you so much," he said, tears spilling over. He decided to sing. "The wheels on the bus go round and round," he began, it being the first song that popped into mind. He hoped that would somehow break the silence that had overtaken his dad. He sang softly, his voice wavering as the lyrics filled the room. His small hand tightly gripped his dad's, willing him to return to reality. Nothing. So he stopped singing. With a tremble in his voıce, Chip decided to try again to make a connection. "Dad," he began, "do you remember when you took me to the arcade and I beat you at Whack-A-Mole?" He paused, hoping for a reaction, a twitch of antennae, anything. "I don't want you to go any where, Dad. I need you here." Just as he finished speaking, he heard the front door opening. His mom must've finished gardening! He didn't want her to find them like this, but he knew he needed her help. He didn't know how else to get his dad to wake. "Mom!" Chip yelled, his voice strained and desperate. "Come quick!" The sound of her footsteps grew closer, the tension in the house palpable. He felt his throat tighten, his eyes blurring with tears. Karen rushed into the room. Her eyes scanned the scene, quickly assessing the situation. Seeing Plankton on the bed, she knew instantly what was going on. She had seen it before, too many times to count. Her heart ached for Chip's innocent confusion. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, trying to calm Chip's nerves as she sat beside him. "Your dad's just having a moment. It's like a little nap, but for his brain." She took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to be scared. He'll be back in a bit." Karen had prepared herself for this day, knowing it could come eventually. She had learned early on what Plankton needed during his episodes. Now it was time to explain it to their son. She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's vacant one. "Chip," she began, her voice soothing, "you know how sometimes you get really into your toys and don't hear me when I call?" He nodded. "It's like that for Dad right now, but with his brain. He can't really hear or see us. We just have to wait for him to come back." She stroked Plankton's arm. This was something she had experienced countless times, but seeing her son's fear was a new kind of pain. "Remember, Chip," she whispered, "his brain is just taking a little break. It's like he's in a bubble right now. We have to wait until he pops out." Karen knew that Plankton needed quiet and space during his seizures. She gently took over, moving Chip aside to give Plankton the room his overstimulated mind required. She sat down next to her husband, placing a calming hand on his back. Her touch was gentle, familiar. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Karen's heart was beating fast, but her voice remained calm and soothing. "It's okay, Plankton," she murmured. "You're safe here. It's just us." Chip watched his mom, his eyes wide with questions. He had never seen his dad like this before, and it scared him. But the way Karen spoke to Plankton, with such patience and understanding, was comforting.

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 6 "Dad," Chip said, his voice filled with a mix of love and concern. "You're okay." Plankton blinked, his gaze focusing on Chip. His hand stilled, the octopus and bear forgotten. "Chip?" Chip nodded, his voice steady. "It's me, Dad. I'm here." He watched as his father's expression shifted to confusion. "What...what happened?" Plankton asked, his voice slurred and uncertain. Karen stood up, wiping her eyes. "You had a seizure, love," she explained, her voice calm. "But you're okay now. Just take your tim-" "No," Plankton said, cutting her off. He looked at the octopus in Chip's hand, then at the bear in his own. His eye searched the room, trying to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of his recent memory. "Wait," he murmured, his voice shaky. "Why the barnacles... I swear I was just..." Plankton trails off, noticing drool on the bedspread. His hand shakes as he wipes it away, his mind racing to remember. Karen's heart goes out to her husband as she sees the embarrassment etched on his face. She knows he's trying to make sense of the chaos in his head, to find his place in the world again. "You had a seizure, Plankton," she says gently. "You're ok now." Plankton's hand tightens around the bear as the fragments of his memory begin to coalesce. "Chip," he says, his voice a whisper. "He...he said..." The word hangs in the air, a shadow of the pain it had caused moments ago. Karen swallows hard, knowing that this is the moment she's been dreading. "Yes," she says gently. "Chip said something he shouldn't have." Her eyes meet Chip's, her gaze silently urging him to take responsibility. Chip nods, his eyes downcast. "But we need to talk to him, Plankton. He didn't mean it. He just doesn't understand.." But Plankton's expression has closed off. The mention of the slur brings back the hurt, and his hand clutches the bear tightly. Karen can see the walls going up again, the fear of being misunderstood once more. "Dad," Chip says, his voice soft. "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't know." He takes a deep breath, his eyes pleading. "Can we talk?" Plankton looks at him, his expression unreadable. Karen holds her breath, her heart in her throat. This was the moment that could either heal the rift or drive them further apart. "I...I'm sorry," Chip stammers, his voice shaking. "I didn't know what that word meant. I just...I just heard it and..." He trails off, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't know it would hurt you like that." Plankton stares at the octopus in his hand, his mind racing. He knows he should be angry, but all he feels is tired. Tired of the misunderstandings, tired of the pain that comes with every ill-intended remark. He looks up at Chip, his son's face etched with regret. "Why?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "Why would you say such a thing?" Chip shifts his weight, his eyes downcast. "I just...I heard it," he admits. "I didn't know what it really meant." He looks at the bear, then back to Plankton. "I didn't know it would make you feel like thi—" Chip was interrupted by a knock on the front door. It's Sandy, Karen's best gal pal, dropping by to visit! Plankton's eye twitches, his thoughts racing. He wasn't ready for company, especially not when he was feeling so raw. But the sound of the door opening and Sandy's cheery voice filled the room, pulling them back to reality. "Howdy, y'all!" Sandy exclaims. Plankton looked up at her, hiding his bear and octopus in his sensory box under the bed. But Sandy saw it. "What's going on? Whatcha got in the box?" Plankton didn't want Sandy to know, didn't want anyone else to figure it out. Sandy, ever the observant soul, noticed the tension in the room. "Everything okay here?" she asked, her eyes scanning the scene. Karen took a deep breath, deciding it was time to face the music. "Plankton had a se-" But Plankton interrupts Karen. "A seriously good plan to uh, to get the Krabby Patty formula," he says, his voice quickening as he tries to deflect. Sandy raises an eyebrow. "Is that all?" she asks, not quite believing the sudden shift in conversation. Plankton nods, his hand still shaking as he tries to keep the box hidden. "Yes," he says, a bit too quickly. "Just a... a little plan. Nothing serious." His voice was strained, the lie heavier than the silence that followed. Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking at the sight of the man who had always been so strong now looking so small and scared. He knew his words had caused this, but he didn't know how to fix it. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "We need to talk about this." But Plankton just shakes his head, his eyes darting around the room. "No," he mutters, his voice shaky. "Not now. Not with...her here." He nods towards Sandy, his anxiety palpable. "Yea, our little secret plans must wait," he says with forced joviality. Sandy's eyes narrow, sensing something is off. "Is everything alright, Plankton?" she asks, concern lacing her voice. Plankton's heart races, his mind trying to form coherent words. He didn't want to lie, but the truth felt too heavy, too complicated for this moment. "It's fine," he says, his tone clipped. "Just a bit tired. Even the greatest minds need to rest, eh?" He tries to laugh, but it comes out forced. Sandy nods, looking between the two of them. "Alright," she says, her voice still laced with concern. "If you're sure. What about the box? What's i---" "It's nothing!" Plankton says, his voice a little too loud. He's flustered, his heart racing with the fear of being found out. The last thing he needs is for Sandy to know about his autism, his secret. He waves a hand dismissively and stands up, the box of stims still hidden under the bed. "Just some... uh... inventory for the Chum Bucket," he stammers, trying to compose his features into something resembling normalcy. "You know, top-secret recipes and... and... uh, Krabby Patty... formulas," he adds hastily, his mind racing to come up with a plausible cover story. Sandy's eyes narrow slightly, not quite buying it. "Then, show me‽ I can't let you steal the Krabby Patty formula," she says, snatching the box.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY i (By NeuroFabulous) Chip and his friend Alex go to the Chum Bucket, where Chip lives with his parents Karen and Plankton. Chip had been looking forward to this moment all week. His friend Alex, the new kid in school, was finally coming over to his place. Chip's thought about the endless possibilities of what they could do together. Would they play video games? Maybe build a fort? Or, if they were lucky, his mom Karen might let them have ice cream before dinner.. The door swung open. "Welcome to the Chum Bucket," Chip said with a proud smile, leading Alex inside. Karen looked up from her book. "Hi," Alex said nervously. Karen's eyes widened. "Oh, hello!" She hadn't been expecting company. But she put down her book. "You must be Alex!" Alex nodded. "Hi, Chip's mom," they mumbled. "Just call me Karen, sweetie," she replied, her voice as warm as a freshly baked pie. "You two have fun!" She turned back to her book, her screen dancing with curiosity as they climbed the stairs. Chip's room was at the end of the hall, but they weren't going there yet. "C'mon," he whispered to Alex, his screen sparkling with excitement. "I want to show you my Dad!" He led him to the bed room door. They tiptoed closer. Plankton's on the bed. Alex peered around the doorframe, their curiosity piqued. "Surprise!" Chip shouted, jumping forward. Plankton's antennas shot straight up, a mix of shock and annoyance. But Plankton didn't move. He remained frozen in place, his eye vacant and unblinking. Alex took a step back, concerned. Chip's excitement faded into puzzlement. "Dad?" he called out, nudging Plankton's arm. No response, not even a twitch. They both stared at him, the room silent except for the faint buzz of a neon sign outside. Plankton's body was rigid. Chip felt a twinge of fear. This wasn't like his dad, who was always bursting with ideas and energy. Alex's grip on the doorknob tightened. They approached the bed slowly. Plankton remained unblinking. "Dad, are you ok?" Chip asked, his voice cracking. He reached out to shake him gently. Plankton's arm was cold and stiff, like a mannequin. Chip's heart raced. He'd never seen his dad like this before. Alex's eyes widened in alarm, their grip on the doorknob turning white. They stepped back, exchanging glances. "Chip, what's going on?" Alex whispered, fear seeping into their voice. Chip's eyes searched the room, his heart racing. "I don't know," he replied, "but we have to do something!" He rushed to the bedside, his hands trembling as he touched his dad's face. "Dad! Dad!" Alex hovered near the door, unsure of what to do. "Should we get your mom?" Chip nodded, his voice shaking. "Yeah, we need to tell." They both bolted out of the room and sprinted down the stairs. "Mom!" Chip yelled, "Something's wrong with Dad!" Karen looked up from her book, her face puzzled. "What do you mean, Chip?" But when she saw the look on his face, she set the book aside and followed them upstairs. In Plankton's room, she paused. The silence was heavy, and the tension was almost palpable. She could see the fear in Chip's eyes, mirrored in Alex's wide gaze. They pointed to the bed, where Plankton still sat, unmoving. Karen took a deep breath. She had known about Plankton's secret for years—his autism. But moments like these were always difficult to navigate. "It's okay," she assured them, her tone calm and steady. "Sometimes Daddy has these moments where he goes into his own world. It's part of who he is." She approached the bed slowly, her movements deliberate and gentle. Plankton's chest rose and fell with his breath, but he didn't acknowledge their presence. Karen placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and understanding. "Plankton?" she called softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. No response. Her heart ached for her husband, trapped in his own thoughts. She had learned over the years to recognize the signs of his episodes, but seeing him like this never got easier. Carefully, Karen sat down beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmured, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Slowly, she began to rub his back in small, comforting circles. Chip and Alex watched, silent and worried, from the doorway. Minutes ticked by like hours. Karen's gentle persistence never wavered. Then, almost imperceptibly, Plankton's shoulders relaxed, his eye blinking back into focus. He looked around the room, bewildered. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. Chip and Alex breathed out in relief. Karen smiled warmly, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's okay, honey," she said, her voice a lullaby. "You're back with us." Plankton's gaze found hers, his mind slowly returning from its solitary adventure. He looked from her to the two in the doorway, confusion etched on his face. Alex took a tentative step forward, their heart still racing. "Are you okay?" Plankton blinked. "What happened?" Plankton managed to ask, his voice scratchy from his silent reverie. Karen stood, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "You had one of your episodes, sweetheart," she explained gently. "But it's okay. You're back now." Chip stepped into the room, his eyes brimming with relief. "What's an episode?" Alex asked softly, their curiosity overcoming their fear. Karen turned to them, her expression gentle. "It's like his brain goes on a little trip," she said, trying to simplify it. "It's part of him. Sometimes he needs time to come back." Alex nodded, their eyes still glued to Plankton. "Does he know he does it?" they asked, their curiosity genuine. Karen squeezed Plankton's hand. "He knows, honey," she explained. "But sometimes it's like he can't stop it." Chip felt a pang of sadness, his earlier excitement now replaced with a deep concern for his father. He knew that his dad was different from other parents, but he had never seen him like this. It was as if Plankton had been taken from them for a brief moment, leaving a shell in his place.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 10 (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 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾—" "𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗄𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄. 𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒-𝖽𝗈𝗈, 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗒-𝗃𝗈𝗈." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗌. "𝖥𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖿𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝗂𝗀. 𝖦𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇." 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝗃𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋." "𝖸𝖾𝗌," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉. 𝖦𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌. "𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖽𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾- 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍. "𝖶𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍, 𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖣𝖺𝖽." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉. "𝖭𝗈," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖭𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋. "𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾. "𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒-𝗐𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. "𝖳𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒-𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍. 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝖺𝖿𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌. "𝖬𝗈𝗆, 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗐. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗌. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖣𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝖽𝗈," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌, 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖽𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖠𝖢 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖶𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖧𝗈𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾. "𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖣𝖺𝖽?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. "𝖬𝗆?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍. "𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. "𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌. "𝖫𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆. "𝖲𝗎𝖻," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌." 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. "𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. "𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖪𝖾𝗋-𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆-𝗈. 𝖡𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗒, 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝗄," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗒, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝗁." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. "𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉." 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. "𝖯𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗄𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗆," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁-𝗎𝗉, 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗉𝗈𝗉," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗆, 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, "𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖡𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝖻𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 2 Chip notices his mom getting up, so he hurries to the living room. The floorboards creak as Karen enters, her eyes widening in surprise. "Chip? You're home already!" She tries to sound casual, but her voice wavers. Chip's face flushes, his heart pounding. "Yeah, the bus got here early." He glances away, his eyes unable to meet hers. "How was camp?" Karen asks, trying to keep the conversation normal despite the tension that now filled the room. She knew he might've heard them, but she isn't sure how much. Chip swallows hard, his eyes flitting from the floor to the ceiling. "It was fun," he responds, his voice not quite as cheerful as he'd like it to be. He couldn't shake the image of his dad sitting there, so still. "What was happening in there?" he asks, his curiosity and concern spilling over. Karen's face falls, and she sighs, sitting down beside him on the sofa. "It's something we've been trying to keep from you, sweetie," she says, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and regret. "But I think it's time you knew." With a gentle nudge, she stands and takes his hand. "Come with me to our room," she says, leading the way. Chip follows, his heart thumping in his chest. Plankton sits up in bed, his expression a mix of shock and confusion as he sees Chip. "Dad, what's going on?" Chip's voice is steady, but his eyes are wide with concern. Plankton's cheeks redden, his hands fidgeting with the bed covers. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice careful, "you know how sometimes people are just... different?" Plankton stammers, his eye darting between Chip and Karen. "It's, uh, it's nothing," he says, his voice strained. "I just had a little... quirk. That's all." But Chip can see the lie in his eye, the way his shoulders tense up like he's trying to shrink away from the truth. Karen sits down next to him, her hands folded in her lap. "Plankton, Chip heard us. It's better if we tell him ourselves." Plankton's face twists in a silent plea, but she continues, her voice calm yet firm. "It's time, sweetie." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's eye widens, his body stiffening in the bed. He's been hiding his autism for years, fearful of how Chip might react, of the misunderstanding he might face. "Chip," Karen starts, "your dad has something called autism." The words hang in the air, thick like smoke from a forgotten candle. Chip frowns, trying to grasp the concept. Autism? He's heard of it before, but never connected it to his dad. Plankton's face is a swirl of emotions - fear, guilt, and a desperate hope that Chip will still respect him. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this together." She looks at Chip, waiting for his reaction. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his cheeks flaming red. He's flabbergasted, his mind whirling with fear and regret. This was the moment he'd been dreading, the moment he'd tried to avoid for so long. Plankton starts to rock side to side. This is his stimming, a behavior common among autistic individuals that helps them cope with overwhelming sensory input or emotions. Chip watches, his confusion deepening. "Don't stare, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "But what's that, Dad?" Chip points to the rocking, his voice tentative. "Is everything okay?" Plankton freezes mid-motion, looking angrily at Chip. "Dad, why are yo--" "It's none of your business, okay?" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than Chip's ever heard. Karen steps in, placing a hand on Plankton's arm to calm him. "Chip, it's okay," she says soothingly. "Your dad's just trying to deal with things in his own way." But Chip can't ignore the anger in his dad's voice. It's a stark contrast to the dad he's always known, the man who would laugh at his jokes. "Mmm," Plankton hums. Another stim of his. "What's 'mmm' Dad?" Chip asks. "Is 'mmm' becau-" "Don't mock me!" Plankton's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. Chip's eyes widen, his heart dropping. He's never seen his dad like this. Karen intervenes, turning to Chip. "When your dad makes that sound, it's called 'stimming'," she explains gently. "It's a way his brain helps him process information and feelings. It's like a self-soothing technique. It's part of who he is, and it's something he doesn't always realize he's doing. He doesn't like for people to point it out because it makes him feel... different." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "But I..." Karen cuts him off gently. "It's important to respect your dad's boundaries, especially when it comes to his autism." She looks at Plankton, his rocking slowing down. "It's a part of him that helps him cope, not to judge or interrupt. Because when it comes to stimming, it's a personal and private moment for him. I don't even interrupt him when he's doing it, unless it's absolutely necessary." Chip nods, but he's still curious. "When do you know how he stims, then?" he asks his mom. She smiles gently. "Well, sweetie, it's all about knowing your dad," she says. "I've learned his cues over the years. When he starts rocking or making muttering sound, it's like his way of telling he needs a little space to sort things out. It's his private moment to cope." Chip nods, processing this new piece of information. "Does he always know when he's doing it?" Karen sighs, her gaze softening as she looks at Plankton. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It's like... it's like his brain is in a different place, and he needs these movements or sounds to bring him back to us." Chip nods, watching his dad's rocking slow to a stop. He looks back at Karen, his eyes full of questions. "But when he stims what do we do?" Karen's gaze meets Plankton's, and she smiles reassuringly at him. "Just give him space," she says, turning to Chip. "And if you're worried, just come find me. We'll talk about it, okay? Just don't push him when he's like this, because it can be really overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's face. He's trying to understand, trying to reconcile the image of his dad rocking back and forth in bed with the man he's always known. He's seen his dad as invincible, as a rock. And now, here he is, vulnerable.

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 1 Chip came home early from a friend's house. His parents are named Karen and Plankton. They didn't expect Chip home so early, nor do they notice him outside their bed room door. Plankton has an autistic neurodisability they've kept hidden, so imagine Chip's confusion upon seeing his dad having an absence seizure. Plankton's eye stared blankly ahead, unblinking, as Karen sat by him. "I've your box of your special sensory items. What plushie might you want?" she whispered. "I'll just get your stuffed bear." Her voice was soothing, and calm. The room was silent except for the rhythmic sound of his breathing. He was in the midst of an absence seizure, his mind momentarily adrift. She knew the routine by heart. Everything had to be just right to bring him back to reality without causing distress. Karen gently picked up the box. She selected a favorite plush, the worn bear, and then carefully approached. As she neared, she noticed Chip, his eyes wide and scared, staring at the scene from the doorway. She swallowed her surprise, trying to maintain the serene façade. "Hi sweetie, come in," she managed, her voice steady. Chip tiptoed closer, his heart racing. He had never seen his dad like this. "What's happening to Dad?" he whispered. Karen knelt beside him, her eyes full of warmth. "Chip, right now Dad is just having a little rest but with his eye open. It's like when you get so lost in a video game you don't hear me calling you." "But why is he like this?" Chip's curiosity was palpable, his voice shaking slightly. Karen took a deep breath, choosing her words with care. "Dad has what's called a congenital neurodisability," she began. "It's a bit like when a daydream but his 'neuroregressions' are more intense for him. One might call these moments 'brain hiccups'. We kept it hidden because he didn't want people to judge him." Chip's gaze never left his father's frozen expression. "But why hide it?" Karen squeezed his hand, her eyes reflecting empathy. "Because, dear, some people might not understand. They could make fun or treat him differently. We didn't want his world to be harder. And you know your father values his pride." Chip nodded, his thoughts racing. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never quite put his finger on how. "Can I talk to him?" Karen's smile was soft. "It's important that you know, but we want to make sure he's okay with sharing too. It's a form of autism he has. But right now he's in a little bubble. It's like he's in a different world, okay? But we can coax him back gently." She placed the bear in Plankton's hand. His hands curled around it instinctively, clutching the familiar softness. "He might not immediately engage with you, but you can try speaking to him." Chip leaned closer, his voice trembling. "Dad?" Plankton's eye remains fixed, unblinking. Karen gave him a gentle nudge. "Remember, sweetie, don't touch his body or startle him. Just let him know you're here." "Dad, it's us, and a stuffed bear is also here for you. The bear is so soft," Chip said, his voice a mix of fear and wonder. "It's waiting for you to wake up." He paused, watching his father's unmoving hand. Plankton's thumb twitched slightly against the plush fabric. It was the tiniest of movements, but it was something. Karen nodded encouragingly from the sidelines, her eyes never leaving her husband. "That's it, Chip," she murmured. "Keep talking to him." Chip swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He took another deep breath and leaned even closer. "Dad, can you feel the bear?" He paused, watching his father's hand tighten around the plush toy. "It's here, wanting you to play. Do you see it's smiling? Look, the bear's smiling just for you." Plankton's hand moved slightly, tracing the bear's stitched smile with his thumb. Karen's eyes filled with relief as she watched the connection unfold. "See, Dad?" Chip whispered, his voice barely audible. "The bear missed you. It's here to keep you company until you're ready to come back to us." His words were met with a faint sigh from Plankton, a sign his brain was slowly emerging from its brief retreat. Encouraged, Chip took the stuffed bear and waved it in front of Plankton's vacant gaze. "Look, the bear's waving back!" He hoped the motion would catch Plankton's attention, but his father remained even more still, his eye unmoving. He tried a different tactic, placing the bear gently on Plankton's lap and giving it a little shake. "It's okay, Dad, the bear wants to play," he said, his voice a soft coax. "What do you say? Can we play together?" For a moment, nothing. Then, a flicker. Plankton's eye moved slightly, refocusing on the bear. It was a small victory. "Look, Dad, it's smiling at you. It's happy you're holding it," Chip said, his voice steady now. Slowly, Plankton's hand began to stroke the bear's fur. The rhythmic motion was almost mesmerizing. Karen watched, her own heart rate returning to normal. It was always a delicate balance, bringing him back. "That's right, Dad," Chip said, his voice filled with encouragement. "You're doing great." He picked up another plushie from the box, a small octopus with long, waving tentacles. "Look what else I found, an octopus!" Plankton's gaze shifted slightly. "It's got eight arms and can give you so many hugs at once." Chip held the octopus up. Plankton's hand twitched. Karen watched with a tiny smile, her heart swelling with pride for her son's patience. "Why don't you put it on Dad's other hand?" she suggested quietly. Chip nodded, gently placing the octopus on his father's hand. Plankton flinched at first but soon grew still again. "Now, Dad, you have more friends to keep you company," Chip said. "They're so friendly and smart." Karen watched as Chip was about to speak again but she held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. Plankton's eye blinked suddenly, breaking the glassy stare. His gaze flitted around the room, trying to piece together his surroundings, his expression puzzled. "You're okay," Karen said, her voice a gentle whisper. "K-Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from his unspoken silence. "What...what's going on?" he asked, his voice weak but growing stronger. Chip watched, his own anxiety fading as he saw his dad's confusion. He held up the octopus. "Look, Dad, it's okay. We're here. You had a little brain hiccup but we're playing with plushies." He tried to smile, unsure if Plankton would understand.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 23 Plankton sits stiffly on the couch, antennae twitching as he tries to make sense of the new environment. Karen sits by him with Chip as Hanna herself sits in front of the couch by them. "So," Hanna says, her voice high-pitched. "What should we do first?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to Karen again. She squeezes his hand gently. "Why don't we take a look at the guest room?" Karen suggests, her voice calm. "Where we'll sleep and put all our stuff.." Hanna nods eagerly. "Follow me!" She leads them down a hallway, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Plankton's heart races. New places meant new sounds, new smells, new everything. He feels his body tense, his stims wanting to take over. But he holds back. The guest room is a riot of color, the walls adorned with various knick-knacks that Hanna has collected over the years. Plankton's eye widens at the visual stimulation, and his antennae twitch rapidly. He knows he needs to find a way to cope. "Well, that's is your shared room," Hanna says cheerfully. "I hope you like it!" Plankton nods, his eye taking in the whirlwind of color and patterns. It's a lot to process. "It's...vibrant," he says, his voice tight. Hanna cackles at Plankton's comment, her laughter too loud. "Oh, I just LOVE color!" she says, not noticing his discomfort. Plankton's antennae quiver, his hand clenching into a fist. He takes a deep breath, willing his stims away. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, doesn't want Hanna to notice. But his senses are on overload, his mind racing. "Thank you," Karen says with a forced smile, stepping forward to set down their bags. She can feel the tension radiating from her husband. Hanna sits, her smile not dimming. "Oh, I just know we're going to have so much fun together," she gushes. "AND I've got a whole drawer full of board games for us to play!" Plankton nods, his smile slightly strained, wondering how much longer he can keep up the façade. Hanna's chatter fills the room. "I've got special movies for us tonight! And I've got everything from classics to the LATEST SCI-FI!" Plankton nods politely, his antennae quivering. He's trying to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation. "Uh, sure." He responds. Hanna's eyes light up at his interest in science fiction. "Oh, I KNOW you're going to love them," she says. His antennae twitch with the effort to keep up with the conversation, his eye glazed over with overstimulation. But Hanna doesn't notice. She pinches his shoulder, her laughter bubbly. "You're just SO sweet!" Plankton flinches at the contact, his body wanting to retreat. He swallows hard, trying to find the words to express his discomfort without offending Hanna. But she's already chatting on, her energy unstoppable. Her hand lands on his knee, giving it a squeeze. "Oh, I'm just so thrilled to have you here," she says. But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, his vision starting to waver as his body fights the onset of an absence seizure. The room spins around him, and his heart races. He knows the signs all too well, the sudden disconnection from the world as his brain goes into overdrive. Karen's eyes dart to Plankton's face, reading the signs. She knows what's happening. "Why don't we give them a few minutes to settle in?" Karen suggests, interrupting Hanna's enthusiastic chatter. "They've got to be tired from the trip." Hanna nods, her smile slightly puzzled but understanding. "Oh, of course!" she says, backing out of the room. The door closes with a click, leaving the three of them. Plankton's antennae twitch faster, his eye unfocused. He feels the world slipping away. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his hand tentatively reaching out. Plankton's breathing quickens, his heart pounding in his chest. Karen's voice is calm, a beacon in the storm. "Plankton, remember your stims," she says gently. "Find something to help you ground." Plankton's gaze flickers, his antennae moving erratically. He searches for his sensory bag, his eye landing on it by the foot of the bed. Karen notices, her hand quickly grabbing the bag. "Here," she says, her voice calm and steady. "Use your noise-canceling blindfold." Plankton takes it, his hands shaking as he tries to put it over his eye. The darkness is immediate, his other senses intensifying. He can feel the fabric against his skin, his heartbeat in his chest. He breathes in deeply, his chest rising and falling as he fights against the seizure. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen this before, but it never gets easy. He wants to help, but his mom's words echo in his mind. 'Let him be'. So, he sits. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, her grip firm and reassuring. "You're okay, sweetie," she says softly. "We're here for you." Plankton nods, his breaths shallow, his antennae twitching. The pressure of Hanna's touch and the sensory overload of the new environment had been too much. He'd felt the seizure coming, the world closing in on him. Yet Karen's voice, her touch, it helps. He closes his eye, his hand fumbling for the stim toy from the bag. It's a small, velvet-covered sphere, and he clutches it tightly. The texture is soothing, grounding. The room is quiet, save for their soft breaths and the occasional creak of the house. Chip's heart thuds against his chest as he watches his dad, willing him to be okay. Plankton's hand squeezes the velvet sphere, his other hand reaching out to find Karen's. Karen's eyes never leave his face. She's seen this so many times before, the battle he wages internally. Her heart breaks a little each time, but her expression remains calm. Chip watches, his own heart racing. He's seen this before too, the way his dad's body fights against his mind. He's learned that silence is often the best medicine in these moments. Karen continues to speak in low, even tones. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe." Her hand never leaves his, the connection unbroken. Chip wants to copy her, his hand going onto his dad's knee.. But Plankton's body only rejects Chip's touch, unable to handle any more stimulation. Karen's voice remains steady, her grip on his hand tight. "Breathe, sweetie," she whispers. "In, and ou-" Her words are cut off by the sudden silence. Plankton's body goes still, his antennae ceasing their erratic movement. Karen notices Chip's hand on Plankton's knee. "Chip, buddy," she says gently. "Let's give him some space." Chip nods, his eyes wide with concern. He moves his hand away. Chip sits, his eyes glued to his dad. "D-dad?" he whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton's hand moves to the blindfold, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "It's okay," Karen repeats. "It's just a seizure, Chip. They're not uncommon." "Need," Plankton says, his voice faint, like it's coming from far away. "I need... I need... I don't know what I need." Karen knew that Plankton's still not with them yet when he talks like this. Karen nods, her voice still soft. "You're okay, Plankton. You're just having a seizure." Chip nods, trying to swallow his fear. He's learned that talking calmly helps bring him back. "It's okay," Chip echoes his mom. "We're right here." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae still. "Need...Plankton," he murmurs. The gibberish isn't uncommon during these episodes, his mind trying to find comfort in familiar concepts. Plankton's eye, still unfocused and glazed, continues to dart around the room. "Yes?" he murmurs again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're okay," Karen says firmly, her voice a gentle anchor in the storm of sensory chaos. "We're all here for you." Chip nods in agreement, his voice shaky but determined. "Just breathe, Da-" But Plankton's grip on his sanity is slipping. His words come out in a jumble, nonsensical. "Wash... blue...cuckoo?" his voice is a distant echo, his mind searching for comfort in familiar things. Karen's heart aches, her thumb rubbing his hand. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats. "You're safe." Chip watches, his eyes brimming with tears. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he knows his dad needs them.

🛸 🎠 🐎 | 🎥 🏇 🎥 | 🐎 🎠 🛸

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 17 The next morning Plankton groaned awake, anesthesia for his wisdom teeth having worn off during the night. He's in his bed, by Karen's. "Karen?" he mumbled. His antennae twitch as he looked around, trying to recall the previous day. Karen stirred beside him, her eyes opening sleepily. "You okay?" she asked, concern etching her face. Plankton nodded, his movements slow. "Mouth hurts," he whispered, his voice hoarse. Karen's smile was filled with sympathy. "It's normal, sweetie," she soothed, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "The surgery was yesterday. It'll take a few days for it to feel better." Plankton's antennae twitched as he tried to sit up. The pain was sharp, a reminder of his ordeal. Karen knew his autism would make him impatient, knowing his sensory sensitivities. "Do you need anything, sweetie?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton was always particular, but now, his needs were magnified. He shrugged. "Not right now," he murmured. Chip knocked softly on the door, his heart racing. He hadn't seen his dad since last night. "Hey, Dad," he whispered, stepping into the room. Plankton's eye widened slightly, his antennas quivering. "Chip?" he said. Chip nodded, his expression tentative. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Mouth hurts," he mumbled. "But I'm okay." Chip nodded, his eyes searching his dad's. "Do you...do you rememb-" Plankton's eye darted to the side, his antennae quivering. "I...I remember," he said, his voice strained. "The de-" "Dentist," Chip finished for him, his voice gentle. Plankton nodded, his gaze flicking to Chip's face. "Yeah, the dentist." He paused, his antennae stilling. "It was scary." "But I mean, what all do you recall from yesterday, Dad?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly as he searched his mind. "I...I remember the chair, the lights," he murmured, his voice faint. "And the...the...uh, the mask." His voice grew smaller. "And then... I felt myself waking up. Anything else after that I... I'm not sure; hopefully I've done nothing foolish.." Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "You were groggy, sweetie. It's normal. You didn't do anything weird." Plankton's eye searched hers. "I...I talked to you, right?" Karen nodded. "Yes, you talked to me." Plankton's antennae twitched. "And Chip?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "You talked to him too," Karen assured him. Chip stepped closer to the bed, his eyes on his dad's face. "You talked to me, Dad," he said softly. "You were just a bit out of it, but we ta—" Plankton's antennae shot up. "What do you mean I was out of it?" Karen sighed, her eyes soft. "You were a bit confused, darling," she explained gently. "The anesthesia can make people say things they might not usually say." Plankton's eye widened. "What things; Chip? What made you to believe I was out of it?" Chip's cheeks flushed, but he knew this was an important moment for his dad to understand. "Well," he began, "you talked about wanting pudding, and you held my ha-" Plankton's antennae shot up. "I did WHAT?" he interrupted, his voice sharp with alarm. "I held your hand?" Chip nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah, Dad, you asked if you could hold my hand, I guess looking for com--" "I did no such thing!" His face flushed with embarrassment. Karen's eyes filled with concern. "Plankton, it's okay. It was just the medicine. It was just because you were so tired and needed comfort." Plankton's antennae drooped with embarrassment in front of Chip. Chip knew his dad valued his dignity highly and his autism made social interactions difficult. He took a deep breath. "Dad, it's okay. It's just that you were really tired and the medicine made you say some things you might not have meant." Plankton looked up. "I kno— I said stuff? What stuff? What'd all I do?" Karen stepped in, her voice calm. "You just talked about being tired, and asked for pudding. That's all." Plankton's antennae twitched in relief. "Oh. Okay." He lay back, his breath evening out. "So I didn't look or ac-" "You were adorable," Chip interrupted, trying to lighten the mood. Plankton's eye narrowed, his antennae still. "What?" he asked, his voice skeptical. "I was what? How so, Chip?" Chip shrugged, his smile genuine. "In the car, you fell aslee—" "Chip," Karen warned, interrupting him. She knew his intentions were good, but she also knew that Plankton could become easily upset by perceived patronizing. But Plankton's always been stubborn. "No, no; Chip, how'd you know if I was asleep?" Chip stumbled, trying to explain without causing distress. "You, uh, your snores were...uh..." Plankton's antennae perked up, his eye focusing on Chip. "WHAT?" he asked. Karen chuckled. "Yes, dear, you snore. But it's nothing to be embarrassed about." Plankton's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. "I do not!" he protested. "You must have heard the engine, or something?" Chip couldn't help but laugh, his eyes sparkling. "No, Dad, it was definitely you." Karen's eyes crinkled with amusement. "It's just your snoring, Plankton," she said. "It's cute, and I've heard it numerous times before." Chip just grinned, unable to hold back his laughter any longer. Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye looking between the two of them. "Cute?" he murmured, his voice filled with doubt. Karen nodded, her smile warm. "Yes, cute," Chip told him. "It's just a part of who you are, like your stims.." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the word 'stims'. He knew about stimming, the way his body moved when he was nervous or overwhelmed. But to hear it from Chip, to know his son was still thinking of it, was mortifying. Chip, noticing his dad's discomfort, quickly changed the subject. "So, how about that chocolate pudding?" he chuckled, trying to ease tension. But Plankton's attitude remained. Karen, ever the mediator, stepped in. "You know what, let's give each other some space," she suggested, looking at Chip. She knew Plankton's limits and can tell when he's overwhelmed. Chip nodded, his laughter dying down. "Okay," he murmured, stepping back. Plankton's antennae twitched as he lay there. His hand began to move in small, repetitive circles. It was a stim, something he did when restless. "Why did I ask for pudding?" he whispered to himself, his voice tiny. "Why did I hold his hand?" His antennae quivered with the weight of his thoughts. He had always been particular about personal space, so the idea of holding Chip's hand was both confusing and disconcerting. "It was the medicine," he murmured. "Just the medicine. That's right. Just the medicine. It's just me, Plankton. I'm ok. Just a bit...different." He paused, his antennae still. "But I'm ok." "Dad," Chip said softly. Plankton's antennas shot up at the sound, his stimming hand freezing. He turned his head, his eye finding Chip's face. "What is it?" he asked, his voice sharp. Chip approached the bed, his gaze on his dad's hand, still mid-motion. Plankton's antennae twitched in irritation. "Is that a stim, Dad?" Chip said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "You know, like when you bounce your leg or I ta-" "I know what a stim is," Plankton snapped, his antennae waving in annoyance. "Why do you keep bringing it up?" Chip took a step back, his face falling. "I just...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing. "No," he murmured. "It's...it's because my mouth hurts." Chip nodded, his gaze focused. "But that's not all of it, is i---" Plankton's hand abruptly stopped moving, his antennae straightening. "What do you know, Chip?" he asked, his voice defensive. Karen could see the hurt in Chip's expression, but she knew this was a boundary Plankton needed to set.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 5 As they pack the last of their things, Plankton can't help but wonder what the science fair will be like. So many people, so many sounds, so much to process. It's a minefield of overstimulation, but for Chip, he's gonna try. Bags in the trunk, Karen gets in the driver's seat as Plankton and Chip sit in the back together. "You okay, Dad?" Chip asks, his voice gentle. Plankton nods, his antennae still as the car starts with a purr. After leaving the driveway Chip notices his dad's humming to himself, a soft, steady rhythm. Plankton's hands are in his lap, fidgeting slightly as he focuses on the hum. "What are you doing?" Chip asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. Plankton jumps in his seat, antennae shooting up. "I'm... uh...just...thinking?" He's flabbergasted that his son has caught him stimming. He's still trying to process the idea that his son now knows his deepest, most personal secret. Chip's eyes widen. "Thinking?" He repeats. "With a so-" "Chip," Karen interrupts. She knows Plankton's stimming, which he never likes to speak of. Yet she also knew Chip's trying to understand, and decided it's time to explain. "Your dad's humming is a stim," she says gently, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. "It's something some autistic folks do to help manage their sensory input or self-soothe." Chip nods, filing away the new information. "Oh," he says, as Plankton freezes. "So Dad, is that why you sometimes do that spinning thing with your fing--" "Chip!" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than he intends. So Karen jumps in. "Sweetie," she says, turning in the passenger seat to face her son, "Dad's stims are private. They're like his personal way of taking a deep breath when things get too much. He doesn't do it for anyone else, just for himself. And if he's alright with sharing them with us, that's his choice. But it's important we respect his privacy." Plankton's gaze meets hers in the rearview mirror, gratitude in his eye, hands stilling as Karen continued. "And unless he says so, it's not for us to bring up or comment on them," she explains to Chip. "So your dad hums, or flaps his arms, or rocks his body, even muttering to himself. They're all his ways of stimming, and aren't to be interrupted or discussed unless he initiates it. If he seems distressed, you can ask if he needs anything, but otherwise, just be there for him." Chip nods, his face a picture of concentration. "Ok, Mom," he says. "But could, can I tr-" "NO!" Plankton's voice cuts through the car, sharp and sudden. He turns to face his son, his eye blazing. "I don't want you staring at or making fun of me!" Karen's eyes meet Plankton's in the mirror, filled with a mix of love and frustration. She knew this outburst is rooted in fear and vulnerability. "Chip wasn't trying to, Plankton," she says. Chip shrinks back, his face reddening. "I'm so sorry," he stammers. Plankton's face softens, his antennae drooping. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just...it's hard." Karen nods. "So the science fair is gonna be tomorrow, so the hotel we're going to tonight has reserved the contestants and their families rooms! So the three of us are gonna have to share the hotel room." Plankton's antennae twitch. "And, Dad," Chip says, his voice full of excitement. "It's going to be so cool! There'll be so many science lovers like us!" Plankton nods, trying to mirror his son's enthusiasm, but inside he's panicking. So many people, so many potential triggers. But he can't let Chip see his fear. He takes a deep breath, his hand against his own seat in a stim. "Yea." The car ride is quiet for a while, and Plankton finds himself getting drowsy. He fights the urge to close his eye. He knows if he dozes off, he'd be embarrassed, and he can't let that happen now, not with Chip watching him so closely. He focuses on the scenery passing by, the rhythm of the car's tires on the road, anything to keep himself awake. But it's a losing battle. His eyelid keeps drooping, his brain begging for rest. He starts counting the yellow lines on the road, then switches to red cars, but the monotony of it all just makes him sleepier. His head nods, and he jolts awake with a start, his heart racing for a moment. Chip glances at his father. "You okay, Dad?" Plankton nods, his antennae twitching with the effort to stay awake. "Fine, buddy," he says. But his body feels heavy, like he's sinking into the car seat. He decides to try distraction. "So, tell me more about your science fair schedule," he asks, hoping that his son's excitement will keep him alert. Chip's face lights up. "Well, tomorrow we've got the setup in the morning, then the judging starts right after lunch." He rattles off the various categories and his predictions for each, his voice rising and falling with enthusiasm. Plankton nods along, trying to keep up with the flurry of information. But his eyelid starts drooping again. "And then there's the final round!" Chip says, his voice carrying on despite Plankton's fading attention. "I've got my experiment all set up by myse—" Plankton's snore cuts his son off mid-sentence as his head lolls, his mouth slightly open, to Chip's shoulder. Chip looks at Karen in the front seat, her eyes glancing back at them in the mirror with a knowing smile. "It looks like he's really tired," she says, keeping her voice low. "It's okay to let him sleep." Chip nods, feeling a wave of protectiveness over his father. He chuckles, taking a selfie with Plankton's sleeping face on his phone. He forwards the selfie to Karen's phone. She tries not to giggle. "Oh, Chip," she smiles, "Dad's not gonna take that too kindly when he wakes up."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 25 Hanna's voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry," she says, looking down at her hands. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's focus is solely on the pieces on the board. "Don't talk to me," he says, his voice cold. "You're the one asking personal questions." Karen's heart clenches, wanting to explain, but knowing that Plankton's current state of mind won't allow for it. "Let's just keep playing," she suggests, her voice a gentle nudge. But the damage is done. Hanna's smile is forced, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The game continues in an awkward silence, Hanna's laughter a bit too loud, her movements a bit too quick. Plankton's stims don't ease, his hands fidgeting almost angrily on the armrest. Chip watches, his stomach in knots. He knows his dad's behavior is because of his condition, but it's hard to see his mom's friend hurt like this. Hanna's eyes keep darting to Plankton's hands, confusion and hurt swirling in her gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmurs again, her voice barely audible over the clanking of game pieces. "I di-" Plankton's antennae swivel sharply towards her. "What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" his voice is harsh, his frustration palpable. Hanna flinches, her hands tightening around her cards. Karen's eyes plead with Plankton to stop, but he's too lost in his own world, his senses on high alert. "Why are you always in my space?" He snaps, his voice echoing around the room. Chip's stomach twists with anxiety. Hanna's cheeks redden, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice smaller than ever. "I just-" But Plankton's done talking. With a roar of frustration, he's knocking over the game board. The pieces scatter everywhere, a visual representation of their shattered evening. Hanna gasps, her eyes wide with shock. "What's going on?" she asks, but Plankton's already storming out of the room. Karen's heart sinks as she watches her husband disappear down the hall. She knew this was a risk bringing him to Hanna's, but she had hoped for a better outcome. The guest room door slams shut, the sound echoing through Hanna's house. Chip feels a knot tighten in his stomach. He knows that look, his dad's retreat to his sanctuary of solitude. "I'm sorry," Hanna tells Karen, picking up the pieces of the game. "I didn't mean to-" Karen's eyes are filled with sorrow as she shakes her head. "It's not you," she says gently. "It's just part of his condition." Her voice is tight, her smile forced as she tries to explain. "When Plankton was being born, something happened. It changed him. Pressure, lack of flow... we're not sure. But what we do know is that it left him with a type of autism." She pauses. "He's had it his whole life. It's a balancing act," she admits. "Some days are better than others. But we've learned to read the signs, to give him the space he needs. It was when his mother was giving birth, his brain developed differently because of the stress it faced. It's not something anyone could have predicted." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the closed door. "I had no idea," she murmurs, feeling guilty for her intrusion. "I didn't mean to-" "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's not something that's obvious, unless you know what to look for." Hanna nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "How does it affect him?" she asks, placing the game pieces aside. Karen sighs. "It's complex," she says. "His brain processes information differently, which means certain things can be overwhelming for him. Lights, sounds, even textures can be too much. And sometimes, it's just the way people interact with him." Chip speaks up, his voice small. "But he's super smart. He can build anything." Karen's smile is sad. "It's true. His mind is...unique. But sometimes, it's like he's trapped in there, trying to get out." Hanna nods. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her voice earnest. Karen's heart swells with gratitude. "Just be patient," she says. "And respect his boundaries. Don't push him to explain things if he's not ready." Chip watches as Karen takes a deep breath. "And if you see him getting overwhelmed, just...give him some space." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the door. Plankton sits in the guest room, his back pressed against the corner. The world feels too loud, too bright, too much. He squeezes his eye shut, his hands over his head, his antennae tucked, his body rocking slightly on the floor. He's learned over the years that this can help dull the world around him, but it's not enough tonight. "Plankton?" Karen's voice filters through the door, soft and gentle. "Can I come in?" There's no response, but after a moment, the door opens a crack. Plankton's eye peeks out, his antennae quivering. "It's okay," she says. "I just want to check on you." He nods, his body tense. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice muffled. Karen's heart breaks a little more. "You don't have to be sorry," she says, entering the room. "You know that." She sits beside him on the floor. He's in full shutdown mode now, his body's way of coping with the overstimulation. She squeezes his hand gently. The silence stretches out, only broken by the distant hum of the city. Karen knows that Plankton needs this, that he's retreated into his own world to recharge. Yet it's hard to watch, knowing that she can't just wave a magic wand and make everything okay. Slowly, she starts to speak, her words deliberate and soft. "Remember, Plankton," she says, "Hanna's just trying to understand. She didn't mean any harm." Plankton's breathing evens out, his body unclenching slightly. "I know," he whispers. "It's just...hard." Karen nods. "I know, love." The room is dimly lit, the sounds of the city a distant lullaby. Plankton's stims slow down, his antennae unfurling slightly as his body starts to relax. Karen's words wash over him, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. "You know, it's okay to be different," she says. "And it's okay for people to be curious. But we'll make sure to explain to Hanna." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his head nodding in agreement. He's so tired, his mind racing from the adrenaline and the sensory overload. His body feels heavy, his eyelid drooping. Karen notices the change and shifts closer to him. "Why don't you lie down?" she suggests, her voice a gentle whisper. "You look ex-" But Plankton's already falling asleep, his body sagging against hers. "Hey c'mon Plankton, let's get you up into the bed befo—" His snores cut her off, his antennae fluttering with each breath. She chuckles softly, her heart swelling with love. He's always been a light sleeper, even when they first met. Karen gently shifts him so he's leaning against her, his head resting on her shoulder. His body relaxes into the comfort of her embrace, his stims ceasing completely. It's moments like these that make her heart ache, knowing how much he struggles with the world outside their home. But she's also fiercely proud of his resilience. Karen's thumb rubs gentle circles on his arm, the rhythmic motion soothing. Plankton's snores even out, his breathing deepening. She can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate, his muscles loosening. She kisses his cheek, her hand still on his arm, her love for him as constant as his condition. The room's dimness is a comforting blanket, shielding them from the brightness that Plankton finds so jarring. Karen's mind races with thoughts of tomorrow, the conversations she'll have to navigate with Hanna. But for now, she focuses on the quiet breaths beside her, the steady rise and fall of Plankton's chest. Hanna, peeking in from the hallway, sees Karen cradling Plankton's sleeping form. Her eyes are filled with compassion as she mouths a silent apology to Karen. Karen smiles slightly, shaking her head, as if to say it's not Hanna's fault. The two women share a knowing look, the weight of the evening's events heavy between them. Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton, her love for him evident in every line of her face. And she knows they'll be ok.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ii (By NeuroFabulous) "Let's go downstairs," Karen suggested, her voice still calm but with an underlying urgency. They followed her, leaving Plankton to gather his thoughts. Once they were in the living room, Karen turned to face them. "I know this might be scary, but you guys need to remember that Dad is okay," she began, her eyes full of reassurance. "It's just his way of processing things." Chip nodded, trying to understand. Alex leaned against the wall, their mind racing with questions. "It's like when you get lost in a good book," Karen continued, looking at Alex, "you're not really gone, you're just somewhere else for a little bit." Alex nodded, their eyes reflecting their attempt to grasp the concept. "But why does he do that?" Chip asked, his voice filled with a childlike innocence that masked his worry. Karen sighed, looking from Chip to Alex. She knew it was important for Chip to understand, but she wasn't sure how much Alex needed to know. "It's complicated, Chip. But what's important is that we're here for him." Alex nodded, still not fully comprehending but willing to accept the explanation for now. They could see the love and concern in Karen's eyes and knew it was something serious. "Okay," they said quietly. But before they could leave, Karen spoke again. "Alex, can I have a word?" Alex turned, their eyes meeting Karen's steady gaze. Chip hovered in the background, sensing the gravity of the moment. "Of course," Alex replied, their voice cautious. Karen's expression grew serious, her eyes locking onto Alex's. "You know, what happens here, stays here," she said firmly. "Your friendship with Chip is important to him. And his dad's condition...it's something Chip doesn't even know about yet I will tell him, but it's a bit personal. You did nothing wrong." Alex nodded, understanding the weight of what she was asking. "I won't tell anyone," they promised, their eyes sincere. Karen took a deep breath, appreciating Alex's maturity. "Thank you," she said, giving their hand a squeeze. "But for now, I think it's best if you head on home." Alex looked at Chip, who was still trying to process everything. "But... what about our plans?" Chip's voice was small, his excitement of earlier replaced by confusion and worry. "We'll have to save them for another day, buddy," Karen said, her voice soft. "But I promise, we'll make it up to you." She gave Alex a gentle smile. "Thank you for understanding." Alex nodded solemnly, their eyes darting from Karen to Chip and back. They knew they had stumbled into a situation that was bigger than themself, and they didn't want to cause any more stress. "Okay," they murmured, "I'll go." Chip looked up at Alex, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Do you have to?" he asked, his voice trembling. Alex forced a smile. "Yeah, I should get going. But I'll see you." They gave Chip's shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning to leave. Karen walked Alex to the door, her mind racing with thoughts of how to explain this to Chip. She knew he wasn't ready to understand Plankton's condition fully, but she also knew that keeping it a secret wasn't fair to him. As they reached the front door, Alex paused. "Is your dad going to be okay?" They asked, their voice filled with genuine concern. Chip hovered behind them, listening intently. Karen nodded, her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, he'll be fine," she assured them. "This happens from time to time. It's just part of him." Alex nodded again, their gaze lingering on Chip. "Okay," they said, trying to sound braver than they felt. "See ya, Chip." Chip managed a weak smile, his eyes still glossy. "See ya," he echoed. The door closed gently, and the house was once again filled with a tense silence.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago AlexDalcourt I like to flap my hands and vocalize- sometimes I do it in public. "Reports coming in that an Autistic child was killed by police for suspicious behaviour and resistance of arrest."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 5 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) "But what if Dad's hurt?" Chip asks, his voice small. Karen's screen met his, filled with understanding. "If he's in pain or really upset, he might pull his antennae in tightly, or his whole body might get stiff," she explains. "But remember, always come get me." Chip nods solemnly, his brain racing with the new information. He watches his mom, his eyes wide with curiosity. "But what if he's happy, Mom?" he asks, eager to know more about the silent language of his dad's body. "When your dad's happy, his eye might twinkle, and his body might get more relaxed," Karen says with a small smile. Chip nods, his curiosity growing. "And if he's sad?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen's smile is warm and gentle. "If he's sad, you'll see his antennae droop, like his spirits," she says, her voice soothing. "And his eye might not look at you directly." Chip nods, his eyes wide with understanding. "What if he's scared, Mom?" he asks, his voice small. Karen thinks for a moment, her hand on his shoulder. "If he's scared, his antennae will quiver rapidly," she says, mimicking the movement with her fingers. "And he may even convulse slightly. It's his body's way of protecting his brain." Chip's eyes are glued to his mother's hand, his mind racing with the implications. "What about touches? You seem to kn-" Karen cuts him off with a quick smile. "Well, your dad's touch sensitivity is unique. Sometimes, he enjoys gentle pressure, like a squeeze of his hand. But other times, even the slightest brush can feel unbearable." She takes his hand, her voice calm. "You'll learn his likes and dislikes. And remember, Chip, it's not about what you think is right; it's about what he needs." Chip nods, his mind racing. "But Mom, how will I know what to do?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. Karen smiles reassuringly. "You'll learn, Chip. Just watch his reactions. If he pulls away from you, it might be too much. And if he leans into you, it's okay." Chip's brows furrow with concentration. "But what if I don't know the difference?" Karen's eyes are gentle as she looks at her son. "You'll learn, Chip. Just start small. If he's okay with you touching his hand, that's a good place to start." Chip nods, his hand tracing a pattern on the quilt. "But what if I hug him again and he doesn't like it?" His voice is full of doubt. "It's okay if you make mistakes, Chip," Karen says gently. "What's important is that you ask him. If you're not sure, just ask, 'Dad, do you need a hug?' And if he says no, or if he seems uncomfortable, just respect his boundaries." Chip nods, his eyes still filled with questions. "But what if he doesn't say anything?" he asks. "Then, Chip," Karen says, her voice soft, "you'll have to be really observant. Sometimes, his silence can speak louder than words. If he seems tense or his antennae are stiff, maybe it's not the right moment. But if he looks relaxed, then that might be a good time." Chip nods, his thoughts swirling. "But what if I still don't know?" he asks, his voice laced with anxiety. Karen takes a deep breath. "Chip, it's okay to not know everything," she says. "But what you can do is pay attention to his body language. If he seems tense or starts to withdraw, that's when you should stop." Chip nods, his mind racing. "What if I want to help him feel better?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You can, Chip," Karen says, smiling softly. "But you have to learn his language of touch. Some days, he might enjoy a gentle back rub, or the brush of your hand on his arm. Just go slow, and always ask first. Why don't we go check on him now?" They stand up, Chip's heart pounding in his chest. He follows his mom down the hallway, his thoughts racing. How will he know what to do when they get there? How can he possibly make things right?

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iii ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs Karen turned to Chip, her face a mask of calmness. She knew she had to explain, but she also knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Let's go talk to Dad," she said, her voice steady. Chip nodded, his hand in hers as they walked back up the stairs. Plankton was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up as they approached. "Daddy?" Chip's voice was small and trembling. Plankton's expression shifted from confusion to realization. He knew he had been somewhere else, lost in his thoughts again. Karen sat down next to Plankton, her eyes meeting Chip's. "Chip, sweetie, there's something we need to tell you about Daddy," she began, her voice a gentle whisper. Chip looked at her, his eyes full of questions. "What is it, Mom?" Karen took a deep breath. "Your Dad has something called autism," she began, her voice soft. "It's like a special way his brain works that makes him see the world differently than we do." Chip's eyes widened. "Is that why he did those weird things?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity rather than judgment, but that's not how Plankton took it. His expression grew defensive. "Weird things?" Plankton's voice was sharp. "What do you mean, Chip?" Karen's gaze softened as she saw the look of hurt in Plankton's eye. She placed a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Sweetie, it's not that he does weird things. It's just that sometimes his brain needs a break. It's like he goes on a little vacation without telling us. It's called an episode." Plankton flinched at the word, his antennas drooping. "But why does it happen?" Chip asked, his voice still filled with innocence. "Well, autism is like a different operating system for the brain," Karen explained, choosing her words carefully. "Some people with autism have moments where their brains need to recharge or process information in a way that's unique to them. It's not weird or wrong, just different." Chip looked from Karen to Plankton, his mind racing with questions. "So my dad's just being... special?" he asked, trying to make sense of the situation. Plankton's gaze fell to the floor, feeling patronized and belittled by Chip's curiosity. "In a way, yes," Karen said, her voice soothing. "But it's not something to be ashamed of. It's part of who Daddy is, and it makes him special in a lot of wonderful ways." She took his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But it can also make things difficult for him, like today." Chip nodded slowly, trying to digest the information. "Does that mean he won't ever be able to play with us like other dads?" His question, though unintentionally, was laced with a hint of disappointment. Plankton's eye narrowed, and he felt the sting of microaggression in his son's words. "Chip, I can play with you. It's just sometimes I need to be by myself, okay?" His voice was tight, the frustration of years of misunderstanding bubbling to the surface. Karen intervened, sensing the tension. "Chip, Dad's episodes are just part of who he is. He loves you very much, and he'll always be here for you." But Chip's mind was racing. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with his dad. He looked at Plankton, his confusion and fear evident. "But why does he have to be like this?" Karen sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the conversation. "Chip," she said gently, "it's not a choice. It's just how Daddy's brain is wired. It's not something bad, just different." Chip frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought. "But why can't he just turn it off?" He didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but the concept of his father being 'different' was still difficult to grasp. "Why's he gotta have this...this thing? I mean, if it makes him sick, why do we have to keep hanging out with him?" The words were out before Chip could even realize the impact they would have. Plankton's eye snapped up. A wave of fury washed over his face, his small form seemingly growing in size as his autistic mind processed the unintended slight. "You think I'm sick?" he roared, his voice echoing through the room, the walls seemingly trembling with his rage. The sudden outburst startled Chip, his eyes going wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before—his usually quiet and introspective father now a whirlwind of raw emotion. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened, a silent warning to tread carefully. "No, Chip," she began, her voice firm but calm. "Autism isn't an illness. It's not something Daddy can just turn off or ignore." But Plankton's fury was unyielding. He stood up, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his anger. "You think I'm a burden?" he shouted, his voice shaking the very air around them. Karen's eyes flashed with a protective flame, her grip on Chip's shoulder becoming almost painful. "Chip, you need to apologize to your father," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. Chip looked up at her, his own anger building. "Why? I just want a dad who's normal!" His voice was laced with frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be like everyone else's dads or else leave?" The words hung in the air like a toxic cloud, heavy with ableism and pain. Karen's face fell, her heart breaking for Plankton. "Chip, that's not fair," she said, her voice a mix of disappointment and sadness. "Your dad can't just change who he is because you don't understand." Plankton's face was a storm of emotion. He looked from Karen to Chip, his anger fading to something deeper, something more profound. It was the look of a man whose entire world had just been questioned by the person he loved most. "You think I'm not good enough?" he whispered, his voice shaking with barely contained hurt. Karen's eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking for her husband. "Chip, that's not what you meant," she began, but Plankton cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Let him speak," he said, his voice deflated. "Let him say what he really thinks." His gaze was unblinking, a challenge in his eye that Chip didn't quite understand. Karen took a deep breath, her heart breaking for the both of them. "Chip," she started, her voice steady despite her tears. "You know we love your dad just the way he is, right?" But Chip's anger and confusion were like a dam that had burst. "Yeah, but why does he have to be like this?" he demanded. "Why don't you just get me a better dad?" The words were like a slap in the face, and Plankton's eye widened in shock. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened, but she didn't say a word. She knew this was something Chip had to work through on his own. "Better?" Plankton's voice was hollow, echoing the emptiness in Chip's heart. "What makes a 'better' dad, Chip?" Chip's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. "One who can play with me without getting stuck like a broken toy!" he shot back. "Even Mom doesn't want you around when you're like that!" The accusation hung in the air like a sword, slicing through the tension. Plankton's antennas drooped, his eye reflecting a deep hurt that Chip couldn't comprehend. "Is that what you think, Karen?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Karen's eyes snapped to Chip, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. "That's not what anyone thinks, Chip," she said firmly. "Your dad is a wonderful person. And he's the only dad you've got." But Chip's frustration had taken over. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've picked a dad who actually deserves to be here," he spat, his words dripping with accusation. "May be we'd be happier if we could just start over without the 'autistic' baggage and get someone who doesn't need to be babysat all the time. Or better yet, maybe we should just get rid of him." His voice was harsh, his thoughts racing in a whirlwind of pain and confusion. The room fell silent, the air thick with the tension of unspoken truths and misunderstood pain. Karen's hands were trembling, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt. "Chip, you can't say things like that," she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's expression was unreadable, his body rigid with the weight of his son's accusations. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "Do you wish I was gone?" Karen's grip tightened on Chip's shoulder, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "Chip, that's enough!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean that!" But Chip's rage was like a wildfire, spreading uncontrollably. "Maybe we would!" Chip shouted, his voice echoing through the room. He didn't know where these words were coming from, but they felt like a release from the pressure cooker of his thoughts. "Maybe if you weren't around, we could be a real family! Even Mom wouldn't have to pretend everything's okay all the time, because she's too nice to go out and get a husband instead of being a burden she has to take care of like a parasite!" The moment the words left his mouth, Chip felt a deep pang of regret. But the damage was done. Karen's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Plankton's antennas quivered, his face white as a sheet.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 16 Karen sits down next to Chip, pulling him into a hug. "It's going to be ok," she whispers. "And he's proud of you for trying to understand." Plankton's stimming continues, his hand moving in repetitive motions, his gaze fixed on the wall. Karen can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate. He starts to murmur, his words barely audible. "Did... I do something wrong?" He mumbles as he pulls his knees up to his chest, now rocking back and forth. "Say others don't want me because I'm... dif-fer-ent." The words are like a knife to Chip's heart, but he knows not to interrupt. Plankton's voice cracks. "Why can't they see that I'm more than... I'm not a monster," he whispers, his voice full of pain. Chip's eyes brim with emotion. Karen squeezes Chip's hand as Plankton's mumbling continues, his voice filled with a world of hurt. "I... I just want to be," he says, his hands flapping slightly as he speaks. "But I... I can't." His voice is a jumbled mess of thoughts, but his pain is clear. Chip's heart breaks hearing his dad's self-doubt, his young mind trying to grasp the depth of Plankton's lifelong struggle. He wants to run to him, to tell him he's not different, he's just... unique. But Karen's grip holds him back. "He needs this," she whispers. "To let out his thoughts." Plankton's voice continues to murmur. "I'm not... not... not," he repeats, his voice getting softer with each word. It's as if he's trying to convince his own brain that he's worthy of love and acceptance. Chip watches, his heart in his throat. He's never seen his dad this vulnerable, this broken. It's a stark contrast to the cunning, determined man he knows from their battles against Mr. Krabs. He wants to comfort him, to tell him that he's enough just as he is, but knows he needs to give his dad space, feeling his own tears fall as he listens to his dad's whimpers, filled with self-doubt and fear of being misunderstood. Plankton's body trembles as he continues to rock, his antennae drooping. He's curling into himself, a protective shell against the world that's often too loud, too bright, too much. His voice is a soft whisper, a plea to his own mind. "I'm not a burden," he says, his words almost silent. Chip carefully selects a spinner from the nightstand, his hands trembling slightly. He approaches Plankton, his heart racing. "Dad," he says softly, holding out the toy. "Would you li—" "No!" Plankton yells, his voice sharp. "Don't touch.." Chip freezes. Karen stands up, turning to Chip. "Chip," she says gently, "remember, his space is his when he's like this." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears as he puts the spinner right back on the nightstand the way as he found it. "But he's hurting," Chip whispers, his voice filled with despair. "I don't want him to—" Karen nods, her eyes reflecting his pain. "I know," she says, her voice soft. "But this is how he deals with it. And we have to respect that. Remember, he's trying to sort through his feelings without getting overwhelmed." Chip sniffs, his hands clutching the bedspread. "But w---" "Chip," Karen says firmly. "Let him be. We're here if he needs us, but this is his process." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. Plankton's whispers turn into a soft, almost inaudible, humming. "Hmmmmm.." Chip's eyes are fixed on his dad, his heart breaking as he watches him from the bed. Plankton's humming increases slightly in volume. Karen sighs. "It's okay," she whispers. "This is your dad's way to calm down. To find his center again." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's form. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. It's a sight that makes him feel so powerless. He wipes away a stray tear. The room is silent except for Plankton's hums. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness, her hand still clutching Chip's. Plankton's rocking slows down, his hums becoming softer until they're barely a breath. Karen can see the exhaustion in his posture, his shoulders drooping. "It's okay," she whispers. Plankton's eye finally meets Karen's, and she sees the fear in it, the knowledge of his own vulnerability. She nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "Come here," she says, patting the space beside her on the bed. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks uncertain. But then, slowly, he unfurls himself, his legs swinging over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the floor as he goes over to Karen's bed. He sits down, his body still tense. Karen opens her arms, and Plankton collapses into them, his body curling into a ball as he presses into her, his antennae drooping. "It's okay," she whispers, stroking his back. "You're safe." Chip watches, his heart in his throat. He's never seen his dad this way before. So vulnerable, so... clingy. It's strange, but also somehow comforting. Plankton is usually so independent, so strong. But here, in this moment, he's just a scared, overwhelmed person who needs comfort. Plankton scoots closer. "M-my head hurts," he mumbles, his voice still shaky. Karen nods, her eyes filled with sympathy. "I know, love. It's part of the overwhelm. Just let it pass." Chip watches his parents, feeling like an outsider in this intimate moment. He wipes away a tear. Plankton's grip tightens around Karen's. "I'm here," she whispers, rocking him slightly. "It's okay." Chip's eyes are fixed on his dad, his heart breaking for him. He's never seen him so... needy.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 6 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) They reach the bedroom's closed door, and Karen knocks softly. "Honey?" she calls. "Can we come in?" There's a moment of silence before Plankton's voice says, "I s'pose." Karen opens the door to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennae still quivering slightly. He looks up, his eye red-rimmed. Chip lingers in the doorway, his heart racing. He's scared to move, to say the wrong thing. But Karen's hand on his shoulder guides him in. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his face a mix of pain and discomfort. Karen gives Chip a small nod of encouragement, and he slowly approaches the bed, his hand outstretched but not touching. "Dad, can I sit with you?" he asks, his voice shaking. Plankton looks at him. "If you must," he says, his tone filled with sarcasm. "But don't expect me to be all 'Oh, Chip, I'm so happy to see you!' when you've clearly called me a monster." Chip's eyes widen at the harshness of his father's words. "But Dad, I di-" Plankton holds up a hand, his antennae still quivering. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend you understand. You don't. You just threw around words you heard from those little brats at school without even knowing what they mean!" Chip's face falls, his eyes welling up with tears again. "But I didn't mean it," he stammers, his voice breaking. "I just wanted-" "I know what you wanted," Plankton snaps, his antennae quivering with agitation. "You wanted answers, and you didn't get them. So, you threw a fit like a typical kid." Chip's eyes fill with fresh tears. "But I didn't know," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I wan-" "Yeah, well, ignorance is not an excuse," Plankton interrupts, his antennae flailing. "You hurt me, Chip. And for what? Because you didn't get your precious hug?" His voice drips with sarcasm, each word a tiny dagger to Chip's heart. "Daddy, I'm sorry," Chip whimpers, his hand dropping to his side. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's sarcasm cuts him off again. "Oh, sorry, I forgot. You didn't know," he says, his voice laden with bitterness. "Well, now you do. And now you can go back to your little life, knowing you've hurt your dad. Great job!" Chip flinches at the harshness, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Dad, please," he begs. "I didn't underst--" "I don't want to hear it," Plankton cuts him off, his antennas quivering with anger. "You think you can just come in here and make everything better with your sorry excuses?" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice barely a whisper. "But I didn't mean to hurt you, Daddy," he says, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to he-" Plankton turns away, his antennas flailing with agitation. "Don't 'Daddy' me," he spits out. "You don't get to call me that after what you said." His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. Chip's eyes are wide with shock and hurt. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's not listening. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't," he says, his tone thick with sarcasm. "You just couldn't help blurting out the first thought that came to your little brain, could you?" Chip feels his heart crumble. "But Dad, I-" "I don't want to hear it," Plankton says, his voice ice cold. "You've said enough." He turns away, his antennae twitching angrily. "Just get out. Leave me alone." Chip stands there, his small hand hovering in the air, wanting to comfort his dad, but not knowing how. His voice shakes with pain. "But Dad, I-" Plankton turns back to him, his antennae snapping with anger. "You don't get it, do you?" he shouts, his voice rising. "You never have!" His eye widens, his body tenses. "I'm not your little science project to poke and prod when you're curious!" Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide with fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so out of control. "Daddy, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice trembling. But Plankton's anger seems to grow with every word, his body shaking. "You don't get to be sorry!" he roars, his antennae quivering violently. "You don't get to just say sorry and expect me to be okay with it!" Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his body frozen in place. He's never seen his dad like this, his normally stoic demeanor shattered by a storm of emotions. "Daddy, please," Chip whispers, his voice barely audible. But Plankton's anger is like a tsunami, crashing against the walls of the room. "You think you can fix me with a sorry?" Plankton's voice booms, his antennae flailing. "You think your pity can make everything okay?" Chip shrinks back, his eyes wide with fear. So Karen decides to jump in to mediate. "Plankton, honey," Karen says, her voice steady. "Chip's only trying to understand. He's scared for you. Let's just sit down on the bed." Plankton's antennae slow their frantic dance as he looks at her, his eye slightly less fiery. With a heavy sigh, he nods, and they all sit down, a tense silence filling the room. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, searching for any sign of softening in his gaze. Plankton's breaths come in short, shallow bursts, his body still taut with emotion. After a moment, Karen speaks up, her voice a gentle reminder. "Remember, Plankton, Chip's just a child," she says, her tone soothing. "He doesn't understand everything about your condition yet." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still glaring at his son. "I know," he murmurs, his voice low. Karen gives Chip a reassuring look. "Why don't you tell your dad what you know about autism?" she suggests, trying to ease the tension. Chip nods, taking a deep breath. "Well, I know it's like his brain works differently," he starts, his voice wobbly. "And sometimes, it makes things hard for him, like too much noise or little things that don't bother me." He looks at Plankton. Plankton's antennae stiffen slightly, his gaze still sharp. "And I know he has these... these breaks," Chip continues, his voice gaining strength. "Where he needs to get away from everything for—" "Absence seizures," Plankton says, his voice flat. "They're called absence seizures." Chip's eyes widen. "Oh, right. Those moments when you zone out," he says, trying to remember the right words. Plankton nods, his antennae still tense. Karen watches the exchange, her heart breaking for both of them. She knows this is hard for Plankton to admit, and even harder for Chip to understand. "They're a part of his autism, Chip." Chip nods, his eyes firmly on his father. "So, when you have one of those... seizures, it's like your brain needs to take a break?" Plankton sighs. "Yeah," he says, his voice weary. "It's like... everything gets too much, and my brain just shuts down for a bit. It's not something I can control. Are you satisfied?" Chip looks at him with innocent curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice soft. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering with memory. "Dad, what's it li—" Plankton's hand shoots up, cutting him off. "It's like nothing you could ever understand," he says, his voice tight with anger. "So just leave it, okay?" Chip's eyes fill with unshed tears. "But Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just want to kn-" Plankton's antennae snap upward, his anger palpable. "You're just a kid, playing at being adult!" His antennae quiver with the intensity of his emotions, his body tense with frustration. Chip shrinks back, his cheeks wet with tears. "But Dad," he whispers, "I just-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice cutting like a knife. "Don't pretend you get it." Chip's eyes are wide with fear and confusion. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I'm not..." But Plankton's anger continues to build, his antennae quivering like live wires. "You don't get it, Chip!" he roars. "You're just a kid who thinks he can fix everything with a hug and a sorry!" His words cut deep, each one a knife to Chip's heart. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Daddy, I just want to help," he says, his hand trembling as it reaches out. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body tensing. "Don't touch me," he snaps, his eye wild with agitation as he throws a pillow from the bed down by his side. Chip's hand retreats as if burned, his eyes wide with fear. "But Daddy, I just-" "I said don't touch me!" Plankton's voice is a roar, his antennae whipping around like angry snakes. He stands, his whole body a testament to his rage. Chip stumbles backward, his heart racing. He's never seen his father like this, his normally calm demeanor shattered by a tempest of emotions.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iv ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, full of pain and anger. "How could you say such a thing?" Plankton's eye were wet with unshed tears, his body trembling as he stared at his son, his mind racing to process the hurtful words. "Maybe I am a burden," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost in the heavy silence. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened. "That's enough," she said, her voice shaking. "You don't mean that, Chip." But the look on Plankton's face told her that the damage was done. Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to say those things, but the anger and confusion had just spilled out. He saw the hurt in Plankton's eye, the same eyes that had looked at him with love and pride so many times before. He felt a lump form in his throat, his cheeks burning with guilt. "Dad, I'm, I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. Plankton's gaze was unflinching, his hurt palpable. Chip looked at his dad, his heart racing. He could see the pain etched on Plankton's face, the way his antennas drooped. "I didn't mean it," Chip stammered, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry." The silence was deafening. Plankton's eye searched his son's, looking for any hint of sincerity. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You've never seen me as a burden before." The words were like a knife twisting in Karen's heart. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she watched the exchange between her husband and son. She had always tried to shield Chip from the harsh realities of Plankton's condition, but now it seemed those efforts had only created a chasm of misunderstanding. "Chip," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "you know that's not true. Your father is not a burden. He's a brilliant scientist, a loving husband, and the best dad we could ever ask for." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. "But sometimes it feels like it," he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. Karen's eyes searched Chip's face, trying to understand his pain. "Sweetie, everyone has their own challenges. Daddy's just have to do with the way his brain works. It doesn't make him any less of a person or a dad." But Chip's frustration remained, his voice cracking. "But why can't he just get better?" he demanded, his eyes filled with a desperation that neither Karen nor Plankton had ever seen before. "I mean, if he's so smart, can't he just fix it? If not, then why do we have to keep him around?" Karen's heart sank as she watched the conversation spiral out of control. She knew that Chip didn't mean what he was saying, but the hurt on Plankton's face was real. But Chip wasn't listening. His thoughts had turned to a darker place, one fueled by his desperation for normalcy. In a moment of cruel manipulation, born out of fear and frustration, he looked up at Plankton. "Chip," Karen began, her voice firm but gentle, "autism isn't something that can be fixed. It's part of who your dad is. And we..." But Chip cut her off, his voice driven by a desperate anger that surprised even him. "If you can't play with me, if you can't be a real dad, then maybe you shouldn't be here at all," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Maybe we should just... "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, eyes filled with horror. "Chip, that's enough!" she snapped. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Chip's mind was a tumultuous sea of emotions—his frustration, confusion, and fear of the unknown had led him to a dark and dangerous place. Plankton looked at his son, his eye wide with shock and pain. "Chip," he began, his voice shaking, "you don't mean that. I'm your father. I love you." But Chip's anger had turned to a cold resolve. "It's for the best," he said, his voice eerily calm. "If you can't be a real dad, then maybe it's time for you to go." The words hit Plankton like a freight train. He felt the air leave his lungs, his antennas drooping further than ever before. "Chip," he choked out, his voice shaking. "What are you saying?" Chip's eyes were cold, his face a mask of determination. "I'm saying that maybe you shouldn't be here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if you just weren't around anymo-" He was cut off by a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Chum Bucket—a wail so deep and mournful that it seemed to echo through the very fabric of their lives. It was Plankton, his tiny body wracked with sobs that seemed too large for his frame. Chip had never seen his dad cry before, and the sight of it made him feel small, his words weighing on him like an anchor. Karen's grip on his shoulder loosened, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and despair. She moved to comfort Plankton, her arms wrapping around him as he collapsed into her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, rocking him gently. "It's okay." Chip stood there, watching his parents, the gravity of his words finally sinking in. He had never seen his dad like this before—so weak, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt shot through him, and he felt the weight of his own cruelty. Plankton continued to sob, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen looked up at Chip. "Your dad needs us right now," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Please, go to your room and think about what you've said." Her eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness, but mostly, she looked disappointed. Chip nodded, feeling the full weight of his own words crash down on him. He turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last as he went to his own room.

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 12 by NeuroFabulous Karen notices the shift in the room and decides to change the topic. "Why don't we talk about something else?" she suggests, her voice soft. "Maybe something that makes you both happy." Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's hand. "Okay," he says, his voice tentative. "Dad, what's your favorite stim?" Plankton's hand stops momentarily, and he looks at Chip with a flicker of irritation. "Why?" he asks, his voice tight. "What's your problem Chip?" Chip's eyes widen in surprise. "I-I just want to be closer to you," he stammers, his voice filled with confusion. Plankton's antennae twitch with agitation. "I know," he says through clenched teeth, "but you can't just take what's mine and make it into your own!" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his heart aching. "But I didn't mean to-" Plankton's voice is sharp, cutting through the air. "You didn't mean to what? It's not like I can just ask your permission on how I'm allowed to experience my own body! Better yet, as a matter of fact, why don't you teach me how I can and cannot feel! I mean, since you're so expert in all things autism. Go on, Chip. Educate me!" Chip's eyes water, his face contorted with a mix of hurt and bewilderment. "D-dad," he stammers, his voice quivering. "I just wanted to be understood. I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's sarcasm continues, each word laced with frustration. "Oh, so now you're an expert on what I can and can't do? Dr. Chip, when’d you get your degree in Autism Spectrum Disorder? And how do you want me to stim? Should I get it approved by you first? Because if I don't, oh your minor inconvenience might just turn into a major catastrophe!" Chip shrinks back, his heart racing. He had no idea his curiosity could cause so much pain. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I just-" But Plankton's anger has been unleashed. "You just what, Chip?" he says, his voice rising. "You just want to play autism detective? You think because you know a few things about stims that you get to dictate how I live? Oh I don't know how I got anywhere without your guidance!" His sarcasm is thick, each word a barb that hits its mark. Chip's eyes fill with tears. "Dad, I just-" But Plankton's rant continues, his voice shaking with frustration. "Just what, Chip? What is it you just do? You just want to play at being autistic? You think you can just waltz in and 'get it' because you've seen a thing or two?" His sarcasm is bitter, his words sharp. "Well you're the one who gets to decide how I should live my life; it's all yours! You obviously know so much more than I do about what's good for me. Right? I wouldn't dare hesitate to defy your orders, SIR! Do you have a hyperbaric chamber I should use? Perhaps if that doesn't work, we could try some homeopathic therapy!" Chip's eyes are brimming with tears now, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wait, a hyper homo what?" "Just FORGET IT!" Plankton yells, as Karen turns to Chip. Her eyes are filled with concern. "Why don't you go to your room, sweetie?" she suggests. Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. He knows he's made a mistake, and the weight of it is crushing him. He slinks out of the room, his shoulders slumped with regret. Plankton's chest heaves as he takes a deep breath. He knows he shouldn't have snapped at Chip, but the frustration had been building. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, her gaze filled with both understanding and patience. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle balm. "You're upset. It's okay to be upset. Do you need some space?" Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye searching hers. He nods, his voice tight. "Yes." Karen nods, her own eyes filled with emotion. "I understand," she says, her voice soft. She leans over and kisses his head, before going into Chip's bedroom. She finds Chip sitting on his bed, his shoulders slumped. "Chip," she says, her voice gentle. "Come here, please." He looks up at her, his eyes red and swollen. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings," he whispers. Karen sits beside him, pulling him into a warm embrace. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice soothing. "I remember once, when he was stimming, I accidentally interrupted by trying to hug him. It didn't go over well." Chip sniffs, looking up at his mom. "But why can't I do his stims with him?" he asks, his voice small. Karen holds him closer, her heart aching for her son's confusion. "Because his stims are his way of coping," she explains. "They're personal to him. It's like if someone tried to take over your favorite game without asking or understanding it. It might not feel right. You'd feel frustrated." Chip nods slightly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So it's like if someone tried to play with my Legos without knowing how I like to build them?" "Exactly," Karen says. "It's his way of playing with his mind. And just like you have your Lego sets, he has his stims. Some autistics share them, but for your dad, they're his alone. And just like we respect your Lego creations, we have to respect his stims." Chip nods, his eyes still on the floor. "But I just want to make him feel better," he says, his voice small. Karen sighs, her expression filled with both love and concern. "I know you do, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, trying to fix things can make them worse. Your dad's autism isn't something to be fixed; it's part of who he is. And while we can help him cope, we also need to respect his boundaries." Chip nods, his cheeks still wet with tears. "Ok," he whispers. "But," Karen adds, her voice firm but kind. "You can still support him. When you see him getting overwhelmed, offer him a quiet space to retreat to. And if he needs a gentle touch, ask first. It's about being there for him in the way he needs you to be. Sometimes he'll sit in my lap as I rock with him side to side. And even then, I have to make sure I read his cues." Chip nods, his eyes bright with the desire to make it right. "Okay," he says. "I'll do better." Karen's smile is soft. "I know you will," she says. "Now, let's go talk to him."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 12 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen heads to Chip's room, her mind racing with a mix of anger and concern. She opens the door, her eyes scanning the darkness until she finds him. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice a mix of disappointment and determination. "We need to talk." Her son looks up from his pillow, his eyes red and swollen. "What is it, Mom?" "What happened with your dad?" Karen asks, her voice calm but firm. Chip looks up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We talked," he says, his voice small. "But it didn't really go we–" "I know," Karen says, cutting him off. "But what did you say to him, Chip?" Her tone is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. Chip swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I just told him that I wanted to help," he says, his voice small. "And that I didn't want you to get hurt..." Karen's eyes narrow, her disappointment clear. "What exactly did you say Chip?" He sniffles, his screen meeting hers. "I said that you seem tired of his seizures, and that he's not being fair to you," Chip admits, his voice thick with regret. Karen's face tightens, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sadness. "You have no right to speak for me, Chip," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. "I love your dad, and we deal with this together." She takes a deep breath, her hand on his shoulder, her screen searching his. "What else did you say?" Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes brimming with tears. "I said you're his punching bag, Mom," he whispers, his voice breaking. "That you're always so patient and that it's not fair t---" Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, her disappointment etched in the lines of her screen. "Chip," she says, her tone sharp. "You don't get to tell me how to feel, or what I think about your dad." Her words cut through his regret like a knife, his eyes widening. "But I just wanted to—" "Chip," Karen says, cutting his protest short. "You don't know what it's like, what we go through every day." Her voice shakes with the weight of emotions held in check. "You're not helping by making assumptions." Chip's eyes well up with tears, his lower lip trembling. "But Mom," he stammers, "I just don't want you to get hurt." Karen's face softens, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with understanding. "But your dad and I are a team. What we have is complicated, but it's ours. And when you say things like that, it's like you're choosing sides. It is hard to see the one you love struggle, but right now you're the one who's causing me, and us, to hurt." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his chest tight with guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make it worse." Karen sighs, her anger softening into sadness. "You didn't understand," she says gently. "But now you do." She sits beside him, her hand on his back. "What you said about your dad, it's not fair to him or to us." Chip's shoulders shake with sobs, his heart heavy. "I'm sorry," he manages to get out. "I just—" Karen's hand on his shoulder is warm, her voice steady. "Chip," she says, cutting his words off with a gentle firmness. "What you said to your dad, it wasn't right." Her eyes hold his, filled with a mixture of pain and love. Chip's gaze drops to the floor, his cheeks burning with regret. "I know," he mumbles, his voice small. "But I just wanted to tell him that—" "No, Chip," Karen says, cutting him off gently. "What you did was hurt him, and that's not what we do in this family." Her voice is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. "We support each other, not push buttons we don't understand. Dad's not hurting me, but now I'm hurt by what you said." Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. "I know, Mom," he whispers. "I didn't think about how it would sound." Karen takes a deep breath, her hand moving to his cheek. "Look at me," she says, her voice gentle. "You can't fix this by pushing us apart." Her thumb wipes a tear from his cheek. "You have to talk to him, tell him you didn't mean it that way. Let's go find him." They leave Chip's room together, their steps heavy with the weight of unspoken words and regret.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vi (By NeuroFabulous) Outside, the corridor was cold and empty, the neon lights of the Chum Bucket flickering above them. Karen's eyes were filled with a sadness that Chip had never seen before. "Why did I say those things?" Chip asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it." Karen took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Your dad's autism is life-long," she said, her voice shaky. "It's not something that you can just ignore or wish away." Her hand rested on his shoulder, warm and comforting. "But it doesn't make him any less of a person, or any less of a father. He loves you so much, Chip. More than you'll ever know." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the floor. "But I hurt him," he said, his voice a whisper. "I don't know how to take it back." Karen's grip tightened on his shoulder. "You will," she assured him, her voice steady despite her own emotions. "You'll learn to understand, and you'll tell him you're sorry. But right now, let's just give him some space." They walked down the corridor, each step echoing in the silence. "But why does Dad get so upset?" Chip asked, his voice still shaky. "Is it becau…" "His emotions can be intense," Karen explained, her voice gentle. "It's part of his autism, Chip. Sometimes, things that seem small to us can feel really big to him." She paused, her gaze distant as she searched for the right words. "Imagine if someone kept turning the lights on and off while you were trying to read a book. It's like that for him, but with sounds, and feelings." Chip frowned, trying to comprehend. "But why does he get so mad at me?" His voice was small, filled with a sadness that tugged at Karen's heart. Karen sighed, her eyes full of empathy. "Your dad's brain works differently, honey," she said, her tone soft. "Sometimes things can be overwhelming for him. And when he's overwhelmed, his feelings can get really big, like a wave that crashes down and covers everything." She paused, considering her words carefully. "It's not because he doesn't love you. It's just how he deals with things." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes still red and swollen from crying. "But why does he freeze up?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's like he's not even there." Karen's gaze softened, her hand still on his shoulder. "Sometimes, his brain gets too full, and he ends up having an absence seizure, where he just sort of... goes away for a bit. It's like his brain is taking a quick vacation," she said, trying to make it relatable for Chip. "But he's always right here." Chip looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "But why does he do that?" he whispered. "Is he okay?" Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, her eyes full of warmth. "It's a part of his autism, sweetie," she said, her voice soft. "When things get too much, his brain automatically just... takes a break. It's not something he does on purpose, it's just his body's way of coping." "But it scares me," Chip admitted, his voice shaking slightly. "It feels like he's gone." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with understanding. "I know it's scary, honey," she said, her voice soothing. "But it's important to remember that it's just his brain taking a little break. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you or isn't there for you." "But how do I know when it's going to happen?" Chip's voice was filled with a desperate need to understand, to control the chaos his father's condition had brought into his life. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes full of compassion. "You can't always know, Chip," she said gently. "But you can learn to recognize the signs." Her hand slid down to his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "When he starts getting upset, or if you see him getting overwhelmed, that's when you know he might need some space or a quiet moment to regroup." "But why does he hate hugs?" Chip's question hung in the air, filled with the innocence of a child seeking understanding. Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's not that he hates hugs, Chip," she said, her voice gentle. "It's just that sometimes, certain textures or pressures can be really overwhelming for him. It's like if someone was tickling you non-stop, even when you asked them to stop—it would drive you crazy, right?" Chip thought about it, nodding slowly. "But I don't get it," he said. "Why can't he just get used to it? I've seen you hug..." "It's not that simple," Karen interrupted gently. "I know you don't understand, but hugs can be really difficult for your dad. His body can't always make sense of the sensation, and it can feel like too much all at once." Chip frowned, his eyes searching hers for answers. "But both of you hug each other," he pointed out. "Why.." "It's different for me," Karen said, her voice soft. "Your dad's senses are like a radio that's always tuned in too loud. Sometimes, when we hug, it's like turning the volume down just enough for him to handle it." Her smile was sad but patient. "It's taken us years to figure out what works for us, Chip. Everyone's different, even with autism." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "But what do I do when he doesn't want to hug?" he asked, his voice tentative. "What if I just want to show him I love him?" Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the raw emotion beneath the surface. "You can show him in other ways," she said, smiling gently. "Words, or just sitting near him, or even just being patient with him when he's having a tough time." Chip considered this, his brow furrowed in thought. "But I want to make him happy," he said, his voice earnest. "How do I do that?" Karen's smile was sad, but understood. "You do that by loving him, Chip," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "By accepting him for who he is and not trying to change him. By being patient when he needs space, and by being there when he's ready for company. He does enjoy helping you with your experiments, doesn't he?" Chip nodded, remembering the times his dad had been most engaged and happy. "Yeah," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He's the best at science." Karen's smile grew a little wider at this. "That's because his brain works differently," she said. "Sometimes, the way he processes information can make certain things easier for him to understand and enjoy." "But what if I don't know what to do?" Chip's voice was filled with a desperate need for guidance. "What if I make him upset?" Karen looked into her son's worried eyes and took a deep breath. "You'll learn, Chip. We all do. Your dad has his own ways of communicating, even if they're not always verbal. Sometimes, it's just about paying attention." "What do you mean?" Chip's eyes searched hers. Karen took a moment before answering, her gaze drifting to a spot over his head. "Look for the little things, Chip," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Like how his antennas move, or the way his eye looks. Sometimes, his body will tell you more than his words can. I know when he's happy because his antennas perk up and his eye twinkles." Chip watched her intently, his mind racing with questions. "What about when he's sad?" he asked, his voice small. Karen's gaze softened, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. "When he's sad, his antennas drop down," she said. Chip nodded, his eyes studying her intently. "And when he's mad?" Karen's expression grew more serious. "When he's angry, his antennas might go stiff and his brow can get really rigid," she explained. "It's his way of saying 'I'm overwhelmed, and I need you to back off.'" Chip nodded slowly, taking it all in. "And when do you know how he'd like to accept a hug?" Karen looked thoughtful. "Well, his body language will give you clues," she said. "If his antennas are relaxed and pointing slightly towards you, it might mean he's open to one. But always ask, okay?" Chip nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful. "How do I tell if he's uncomfortable with touch?" he asked, his eyes wide with concern. Karen squeezed his hand. "Look for the signs," she said. "If his body stiffens or his antennas pull back, it's usually a clue that he's not enjoying it." She smiled softly. "But remember, everyone's different, even within the spectrum. What works for one person with autism might not work for your dad." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "But what different types of touch..." "It's all about sensory input," Karen said, cutting him off gently. "Some textures and sensations might feel like sandpaper to him, while others might be soothing. It's a delicate balance, and it's different for everyone. But for your dad, he often prefers gentle, predictable touches. Like a soft touch on the arm. But he tends to dislike sudden hugs or pats on the back, or a squeeze of the shoulder." Her eyes searched Chip's, looking for any signs of doubt or confusion. "But always ask before you touch him," she added. "It's important to respect his boundaries." Chip nodded, his mind racing. "But what if he doesn't say anything?" he asked. "How will I know?" Karen sighed, her eyes reflecting the years of experience. "That's the tough part, Chip," she admitted. "Sometimes, your dad can't find the words. But if you pay close attention, you'll see the signs." "Signs?" Chip's voice was filled with uncertainty. Karen nodded solemnly. "When he starts to get overwhelmed, his body will show it," she said. "His antennas might jerk, or his eye might dart around the room. Sometimes, he'll repeat words or phrases over and over, like he's trying to find the right one to express how he feels."

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 13 by NeuroFabulous They enter the bed room, where Plankton still sat on his bed. He had his box of sensory items in front of him. Karen approaches carefully, her eyes full of empathy. "Plankton," she says, sitting down next to him. "Chip's just trying to understand. He loves you and wants to help." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still firmly on his box. Chip leans over and sees various aids. Ear phones, squishy balls, fidget toys, stuffed plushies, even a black out curtain rod. "Dad, what are these?" he asks, his voice soft. But Plankton's not quite over his irritation. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," he mumbles, hugging the box as he turns away. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Those are his sensory aids," she explains, her voice calm. "They help him when he's feeling overwhelmed." Chip looks up, his eyes filled with curiosity. "Can I se-" "NO," Plankton snaps, his voice sharp. Karen's hand squeezes Chip's. "Your dad considers these as his personal space," she whispers. "But you can ask him to show you how they work." Chip nods, his eyes still on the box. He swallows his curiosity and speaks up, "Dad, can you show me whaa-" But Plankton cuts him off again. "I'll show you when, IF, I'm ready," he says, his voice still edgy. "For now, just leave me alone.." Chip's eyes water, but he nods. He understands his dad needs space, yet he's hurt that he can't just help like he wants to. Karen gives Chip a squeeze. "It's okay," she whispers. "You're learning." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton, who's now breathing deeply, his hands moving over the items in his sensory box. Karen watches the two of them, her heart swelling with love and understanding. Plankton's autism isn't easy, but she's dedicated to making sure they all navigate it together. She reaches out to Plankton, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We're here for you," she says, her voice soft. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't pull away. He's still upset, but Karen's presence is soothing. "I know," he murmurs, his hand still moving through his sensory box. Chip watches, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret. He wishes he could share his dad's world, but he knows that's not how it works. Karen's hand on Plankton's shoulder is a reminder of the bond they share, the silent understanding that comes with knowing someone so intimately. And Chip wants to be like his mom with the ability to share. Karen feels Plankton's body relax slightly under her touch. His breathing becomes less ragged. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice low, almost lost. "For what?" she asks, stroking his arm gently. "For being you," he says, his antennae drooping. "For understanding." Chip feels a pang of longing, wanting to be a part of this. Karen notices his sadness and gestures for him to come over. "You're a part of this, too, Chip," she says, her voice soothing. Chip sits on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over Plankton's. Plankton glances up, his eye seeing the unshed tears. "Chip's NOT a part of this." Karen's voice is calm and firm. "Plankton," she says, her hand still on his shoulder. "Chip is a part of this family, and he's trying to understand you. We-" "I don't need him to understand," Plankton interrupts, his voice sharp. "I just need him to leave me alone!" Karen's gaze remains steady, her voice calm. "Plankton," she says firmly, "You know Chip loves you. He's just trying to help." Chip nods, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah Dad, I---" But Plankton pulls away. "Chip's not a part of this," he says. Chip's heart drops, feeling the weight of his father's words. He tries to put his hand on his dad's shoulder again, but Plankton flinches. Plankton's hand suddenly stops moving as his antennae spike in overwhelm. He can't take it, can't take anymore. "Chip, go," he whispers, his voice tight with the effort of containing his agitation. "Please.." Chip shakes his head. "No, Dad; I'm NOT leaving you." Plankton's stims intensify, his hands now flapping. The room seems to spin around him as he tries to process the world in a way that makes sense to his overwhelmed brain. Chip's heart aches, but he wants to do something, to help in some way, but he doesn't know how. Plankton's stims become more frantic, his hands now flapping at his sides. His breathing is rapid, his body tense. Chip feels like he's intruding, but he can't bring himself to leave. Karen watches, her heart breaking for both of them. She knows Plankton's stims are his way of coping, yet seeing Chip's pain is hard. "Why don't you sit by him," she suggests. "But don't touch unless he asks." Chip nods, moving closer to his dad, his eyes following the erratic movements. Plankton's stims grow more intense. His body sways, his hands flap. His eye closes tightly, his mouth moving in silent sounds that not even he himself can understand. Chip sits by his side with concern, but he knows his dad needs him. He watches Plankton's stims closely, his heart swelling with love and worry. He can see the tension in his father's body, the way he rocks back and forth slightly, his hands moving in a pattern. Chip tries to mirror the movements, hoping to somehow share. But Plankton's reaction isn't what he expects. His eye flies open, turning to see Chip mimicking his stims, his hands moving in the same erratic pattern. Plankton's antennae flinch, his body stiffening. "STOP!" he yells, his voice raw. Chip's eyes are wide with surprise, then fill with determination. "But Dad," he says, his voice steady. "I'm just trying to be there for you." Plankton's body language doesn't soften. "You're not getting it. This isn't a game you can just play when you feel like it. These are mine. They're private." Chip's eyes fill with understanding. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says. "I didn't mean to make it seem like that." But Plankton's not ready to hear it. He turns away, now suppressing his stims with a grimace. But Chip doesn't let up. "I'm not playing games, Dad," Chip says, his voice quiet but firm. "I just am making an effort to observe and connect." But Plankton's anger doesn't diminish. "You can't connect with me by playing copycat!" he snaps, his voice filled with pain. "You don't get to—" "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip interrupts, his voice trembling. "I just want to be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. "But you're not," he whispers. "You're not like me, Chip." Chip's eyes water, his voice trembling. "But I want to be there for yo--" "NO," Plankton says, his voice firm. "You can't be." He turns away again. Chip feels the sting of his father's rejection, but his resolve to support doesn't waver. He takes a deep breath. "Dad, I know I'm not autistic, but I can learn. I can be there for you like Mom is, so just tell me—" But Plankton's voice interrupts him, "No, Chip," he says, his tone exasperated. "You can't just learn to be there for me. It's not something you can just pick up. It's something you either get or you don't. And right now, you're not getting it." His hands clutch the bedspread.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 14 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) The three of them sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the echoes of Plankton's ragged breathing. Then, Karen clears her throat, her voice calm but firm. "Chip, can you help me get your dad to his bed?" Chip nods. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice still shaky, as Plankton's still on his side. He moves closer, his hand hovering over his dad's shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. How does he touch his dad without causing more pain? Karen notices his uncertainty and nods reassuringly. "Just be gentle," she says, her voice a whisper. "And watch his cues." Chip's hand descends slowly... As his fingertips graze Plankton's skin, he flinches, his eye darting around the room. "Easy, Dad," Chip says, his voice gentle. His hand lingers, seeking the right balance between support and respect. Plankton's body tenses, despite realizing Chip's intent. Karen watches. She knows the fear behind Plankton's flinch, the years of pain and misunderstanding that have shaped their dance of affection. She offers a nod, silently encouraging Chip to persist. With trembling hands, Chip slides his arm under Plankton's. Karen's own arms wrap around Plankton's shoulders, completing the circle of support. Plankton's eye meets Karen's, his fear a stark reminder of the invisible walls his autism has built. But in her gaze, he sees love, not just pity— understanding, not judgment. With a deep breath, he allows them to help him to his feet, his legs wobbly with the aftermath of his seizure. Karen's grip is firm but gentle, her eyes speaking volumes without a word. Chip's hand is a tentative question mark, hovering near Plankton's shoulder, seeking permission to touch. Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tightening. He's overwhelmed, his skin a minefield of sensory input. The slightest touch feels like a storm raging in his head. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a balm. "We're just going to help yo--" But Plankton's body jerks, his antennae flailing as if trying to ward off an invisible assailant. "No more!" he cries, his voice a shattered glass. "I can't!" Karen's heart clenches, her grip loosening as she pulls back. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "We'll get you to bed, that's al-" But Plankton's distress escalates, his antennae thrashing wildly. "NO!" he shrieks, his body rigid. "NO MORE!" Karen's heart squeezes, her grip on him loosening as she takes a step back, her eyes filled with pained empathy. "Shh, baby," she whispers, her voice a gentle caress. "We're not going to force you." Chip's eyes widen in fear, his hand retreating. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "It's okay, we're here to he-" But Plankton's panic is a wildfire, his movements erratic and unpredictable. Karen's eyes fill with concern, her voice calm. "Chip, let's just get him to the couch." They move as one, guiding Plankton's stumbling figure towards the sofa, their movements a delicate ballet of care and precision. The couch is a mere few feet away, a sanctuary of familiar fabric and scent. But to Plankton, it seems a mountain to climb, each step a battle against his own body. His antennae thrash wildly, his eye darting around the room as if seeking an escape. Karen and Chip move closer, their presence a comforting warmth. Their touch is gentle, a soft whisper of reassurance amidst his chaos. Yet, each step towards the couch feels like wading through thick, clinging mud. His legs wobble, his breaths coming in sharp gasps. Karen's grip is steady, her eyes never leaving his, a silent promise that they'll get through this. Chip's hand hovers, unsure, his heart racing with fear. He wants to help, but Plankton's flinch is a stark reminder of his own limitations. Karen's nod gives him the courage to reach out again, his touch a soft question. Plankton's body jerks. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his voice thick with regret. He's trying so hard to bridge the gap, to understand, but his efforts seem only to push his father further away. Karen's face is a mask of calm, but Chip can see the worry in the tight lines around her eyes. "Ca--" But the word dies in his throat as Plankton's body goes rigid, his eye rolling back, antennae freezing mid-thrash. His legs buckle, and he crumples onto the couch. Karen's eyes widen with fear, but her movements are swift and sure. She's seen this before, the aftermath of a seizure taking its toll. Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his hand still outstretched, trembling. "Dad," he whispers, his voice a prayer. "Are you okay?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering open, a silent plea for understanding. The seizure's aftermath clings to his body like a damp fog, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Karen's hands are gentle on him, her movements measured. She knows his pain, his fear, and the thin line between love and overwhelm. "Chip," she says softly, turning to her son, "this is part of your dad's world. He needs his space, and we need to respect that." She sits beside Plankton, her hand on his back, feeling his erratic breaths. Plankton's antennae droop, his body a ragdoll's. "I'm s-sorry," he stammers, his voice weak. "I didn't mean to..." Chip's heart aches, his hand still hovering, trembling. "It's not your fault, Dad," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "It's just... hard to see you like this." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on his son's face. "I know," he whispers, his voice a confession of his own fears. "It's hard for me, too." His admission is a rare moment of vulnerability, a crack in the armor of his usual bravado. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I want to help," he says, his voice desperate. "But I don't know how." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye closing in exhaustion. "We'll learn together," Karen says, her voice a gentle guideline. "You don't have to have all the answers, Chip. Just be patient, and listen." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton's exhausted form. "I'll try," he murmurs, his voice filled with hope and uncertainty. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye fluttering open. "I know," he says, his voice a weary whisper. "It's... it's not easy." Karen's hand smooths over his back, her touch a gentle reminder of her presence. "We're here, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft promise. "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye still closed. "I know," he murmurs, his voice barely a breath. "I just... I can't bear the thought of being a burden." The words hang in the air, thick with his fear and doubt. Karen's hand pauses on his back, her eyes filling with sorrow. "You're not," she says, her voice firm. "You're my partner, my love." She takes his hand in hers, her thumb stroking his palm gently. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye fluttering open to meet hers. "But what if... what if I hurt you?" he asks, his voice a whisper of doubt. Karen's grip tightens, her eyes filled with determination. "You won't," she says, her voice a promise. "We're a team, Plankton. You're not alone in this." Her words are a gentle rebuke to his fears. "I'll find you a pillow and blanket for out here." As Karen goes back upstairs Chip inches to the couch. "Dad can I sit?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still closed. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice a wisp of sound.

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.

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 14 by NeuroFabulous Chip feels the sting of his father's words, but he doesn't let the hurt show. "But I want to," he says, his voice firm. "I'll do anyth—" But Plankton's patience is thin. "You can't just decide to understand me!" he says, his voice rising. "It's not that simple!" Chip's eyes fill with determination. "But I'm trying," he says, his voice steady. "I'm really trying, Dad." But Plankton's frustration has reached a boiling point. "You're not trying enough!" he snaps. Karen's eyes are filled with concern as she watches her husband's distress. She knows his stims are his way of keeping the world at bay, and Chip's attempt to share in them has only made things worse. "Plankton," she says gently. "Let's take a step back." Plankton turns to her. "What do you mean?" he asks. "Chip's trying," she says, her voice calm. "But he's still learning. Why don't you explain to him? Tell him." Plankton's antennae droop, his shoulders slumping. He takes a deep breath, his hands stilling. "It's just... these are mine," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "These movements, these sounds, they're not for anyone else." Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad. "I know," he says. "But I just wanted to be a part of yo--" "NO," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "You can't!" He throws his sensory box across the room, the items scattering everywhere. Chip's eyes widen in shock. He's never seen his dad so upset. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "What's wrong?" Plankton turns to him, his face a mask of frustration. "You," he says, his voice tight. "You're what's wrong." Chip's eyes are wide, his heart racing. "Me?" he stammers. "What did I-" But Plankton's not listening. "You're always poking and prodding," he says, his voice rising. "Always asking questions. Always wanting to be a part of something that's not for you!" Chip feels his heart drop. "But Dad," he whispers, his voice filled with pain. "I just want to be there for you; I'm your son." Plankton turns away. "It's not your place," he says. "This isn't for you to be a part of, it's not your place to—" But Chip's voice cuts through the tension. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's my place to love you and support you. And if I don't know how to do that, I want to learn." Karen has cleaned up the sensory box, putting it back. She knows that Chip wants to reach out, but he's not sure if his dad is ready. Plankton's breathing has steadied, but he's still upset. Chip sits there, his hands in his lap, unsure of what to do next. "Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. "Not funny, not funny at all. No one said to somebody." He says to himself as a stim. Chip watches, his heart heavy. He didn't mean to make his dad upset, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him again. "I just wanted to share your world," he says, his voice small. "But I'm sorry if I made it worse." Plankton's antennae droop, his shoulders slumping. "It's not about sharing, Chip," he murmurs. "It's about respecting my boundaries." Chip nods, his eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't mean to disrespect you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering to Chip and then away before he began to stim again. "La da du, bom ha-" "Dad," Chip interrupts once again, "I'm sorry.." But Plankton's antennae twitch, cutting him off. "Don't," he says, his voice tight. "Just don't." He resumes his stim. "Ibo de, mana teh, nomi gli ba–" Chip's heart squeezes. "Dad, please," he says, his voice desperate. "I-" But Plankton's antennae spike, his voice cutting through. "I said DON'T!" Chip's eyes water, his voice shaking. "But Dad, I'm just trying to connect!" But Plankton's antennae flicker in agitation, his voice sharp. "Connections don't work that way!" He turns back to Chip, his eye blazing. Karen knew she needed to intervene again. "Chip," she says, her voice steady. "Why don't you let your dad calm dow—" But Chip's eyes are filled with determination. "No, Mom," he says. "I want to help him now." He reaches out to Plankton, his hand hovering over his dad's arm. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "Let me help yo-" But Plankton's reaction is swift and severe. He jerks his arm away, his antennae quivering with agitation. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" he yells, his body rigid with tension. Chip recoils, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Plankton's meltdown is fierce, his movements erratic and jerky. He slams his hands on the bed, his eye closed tight. "I TOLD YOU!" he yells. "DON'T DO THIS!" Chip feels his dad's pain like a physical blow, his eyes wide with shock. He takes a step back, his hands up in a gesture of non-threatening submission. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's meltdown continues, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. He throws a pillow to the wall, growling as Karen watches with sorrow. She knows Plankton's limits have been pushed too far. "Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me help." But Plankton's in the throes of a meltdown, his stims now replaced with furious movements. He knocks over another pillow. Chip's heart races, his instinct to comfort warring with his fear of making things worse. Karen steps in, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Let me handle this," she says, her voice steady. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad. Plankton's breath comes in quick, ragged gasps. Karen approaches slowly, her body language calm. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "You're safe, you're loved." She doesn't touch him yet, knowing his senses are on high alert. "You can come back now, sweetie." But Plankton's in a world of his own, his body moving in a dance of frustration and anger. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she slowly moves closer. "You're safe," she repeats. "You're loved." She reaches out, her hand hovering just above his arm, giving him the option to pull away. For a moment, Plankton's body stills, his antennae quivering with the effort to hear her. And then, with a sudden, explosive movement, he throws himself into her arms, his body convulsing with sobs. Karen holds him tightly, her grip firm but gentle, rocking him back and forth the way he likes it. "It's ok," she murmurs. "It's ok, you're safe." Chip watches, his eyes wide with worry and confusion. He's never seen his dad like this, so raw and unguarded. Plankton's sobs echo in the room, his body trembling against Karen's chest. She holds him, her heart breaking for the man she loves, the man who often has to navigate a world that doesn't quite fit him. Her hand moves in a gentle pattern on his back, a silent reassurance that she's there. Chip watches from the sidelines, feeling utterly helpless. He's never seen his dad so out of control, so overwhelmed by his own feelings. The sight of Plankton in such distress is a stark reminder of the challenges his father faces every day.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 11 (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 They approach Plankton, his body heavy with sleep. Karen gently shakes his shoulder. "Wake up, love," she says. "We're going to help you to bed." Plankton's eye opens, blinking in the soft light. He looks around, disoriented for a moment, before focusing on Karen's face. "Bed?" he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. Chip nods eagerly. "You need to sleep in your own bed, Dad," he says, his voice gentle. Plankton frowns, his hand reaching for his blanket. "Must," he says, his voice firm. Karen nods. "Let's go," she whispers, taking his arm. With careful steps, they navigate the hallway, the soft carpet muffling their footsteps. Chip follows behind. Plankton's movements are slow and deliberate. Karen helps Plankton into his room, the space familiar and comforting. The bed is a sanctuary. Karen helps him into bed, his limbs heavy with sleep. Karen opens the bedside drawer, her movements practiced and quiet. Chip watches as she pulls out from the sensory box a soft plushie. Plankton's eye flickers open, his gaze landing on the toy. "Huggle," he murmurs. His hand reaches out, his fingers grabbing the plushie. Karen nods. "Here you go, sweetie," she says, placing it in his hand. The softness of the plushie seems to ground him. His hand clutches it tightly as he settles into bed, his antennae still. "Pranks," he says. "Ponies.." Karen tucks the blankets around him, her movements precise and gentle. "Good night," she whispers, leaning in to kiss his forehead. Chip watches as Plankton's grip on the plushie tightens, his eye still closed. "What's that for?" he asks. Karen smiles down at her sleepy husband. "It's a comfort object," she whispers. "It's like a pillow or a blanket for you." Chip nods. Plankton's hand tightens around the plushie, his breathing deepening. "Huggle," he murmurs. The soft toy is a lifeline to a world that often feels overwhelming. Chip watches his dad with a newfound respect, understanding that sometimes, the simplest things provide the most profound comfort. "Good night, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling slightly. He's seen a side of Plankton today that's both fascinating and heartbreaking. The father he's known his whole life, his hero, has a vulnerability no one else sees. The next morning, Chip wakes up and goes in to his parent's bedroom again. Karen is up. Plankton is still asleep, his hand still wrapped around the plushie. "Ponk," he murmurs in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly. Chip pads over. He looks at his mom, his eyes questioning. "Is he okay?" he whispers. Karen nods. "He's just dreaming," she explains. "It's a way of working through things." Chip sits on the edge of the bed. "Mm," Plankton murmurs. Chip's seen his dad's strength so many times, but this vulnerability is new. He reaches out for his sleeping dad's plushie. Chip's hand hovers over it. He gently takes it... Plankton's eye flew open. "Whaa-" Plankton says, then notices Chip taking the plushie. In an instant, Plankton is wide awake, his antennae shooting up in anger. "No!" he yells, his voice sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide. "What's wrong, Da-" Plankton's hand snatches the plushie from Chip's grip. Karen's screen flashes with concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she says quickly. "Chip didn't mean to take it." But Plankton's not listening. "NO! It's mine! YOU don't touch!" The room seems to shrink under the weight of his anger. His antennae quiver with rage. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip stammers, his voice small and scared. Plankton's grip on the plushie tightens. Karen's screen flickers. "Plankton," she says gently. "Remember, Chip didn't mean to upset you. He's still learning." Plankton's eye darts between the plushie and his son. "MINE! MINE, MINE, MINE!" Chip feels tears prickling his eyes. He didn't mean to make his dad so mad. Chip goes to pick up the plushie to hand back to him, but Plankton thought he's taking it. In a flash, Plankton is out of bed, his body stiff, his antennae trembling with fury. "NO!" he roars, his voice echoing through the tiny room. Chip flinches, his grip on the plushie tightening. "Dad," he whispers, "I'm sorry." Karen moves quickly. "Plankton," she says, her voice firm but kind. "Remember, it's okay." Her hands are up, a silent plea for peace. But Plankton doesn't see her. His eyes are locked on Chip. Yet Karen's voice remains steady. "Plankton, it's okay. Let's talk about thi—" He cuts her off with a screech. "MINE!" He snatches the plushie from Chip's grasp, his antennae waving in agitation. Chip backs away, his eyes brimming with tears. "It's okay, Dad," he stammers. "You can have it." But Chip accidentally brushes against Plankton. Plankton flinches, his body stiffening. "NO!" he shouts again. "DON'T TOUCH!" The force of his words pushes Chip back. He almost stumbles over a chair. "Dad, I di-" But Plankton doesn't hear. He's lost in a world of his own, where the rules are clear and simple: his things are his, and no one else's. The plushie is a lifeline in a storm of confusion, and it's been snatched away. His rage builds, his antennae quivering like live wires, his body trembling with anger. With a roar, Plankton throws the plushie across the room, watching it sail past the curtains and hit the wall. The impact echoes through the silence like a gunshot. Chip flinches, his heart racing. This isn't the dad he knows. This is a stranger, a creature of fury and pain. Plankton's chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths. His skin is slick with sweat, his eyes wild and unfocused. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, his fists clenched at his sides. The room seems to pulse with his anger, the walls closing in. Karen steps forward, her hands still up, her voice calm. "Plankton, love," she says, "Chip didn't mean to upset you." But her words are lost in the rage. He turns and grabs the chair. With a powerful swing, Plankton throws the chair, his movements surprisingly strong. It crashes against the wall, the sound like a thunderclap in the silent room. Chip's eyes widen in fear. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking as Plankton grabs a vase. "MINE!" Plankton yells, his body a blur of anger. The vase flies, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor. "NO TOUCH!" The room is a chaos of Plankton's rage, his stims forgotten in the face of perceived invasion. Chip is frozen, his eyes following the path of destruction. Karen's screen flickers, her voice urgent. "Plankton, please," she says, her eyes filled with fear. "You're scaring Chip." But the words bounce off his shield of anger. He grabs a book, ready to hurl it next. The room is a minefield of shattered glass and flying objects. Chip's heart races. He's never seen his dad like this. He's never felt so scared. Karen moves closer, her hands outstretched. "Honey," she says, her voice shaking. "Remember, Chi-" But Plankton's rage is like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He throws the book, his body a whirlwind of anger. "NO!" His voice is raw, his eye wild. The book slams into the wall, the pages fluttering to the ground. Chip watches, his eyes wide with fear. He's seen his dad's temper before, but never like this. The room feels like it's closing in, his heart thumping in his chest. He wants to run, but he's rooted to the spot. He can't leave.

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.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 13 (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 Chip sits on the edge of the bed, his hand touching Plankton's shoulder. He whispers, "I'm sorry," not sure if his dad can hear him. Karen sits next to him, her hand on his back. "It's not your fault," she says, her voice soft. "Remember, we're here for him. Now when he wakes, he might be feeling tired. But he'll be okay." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton's peaceful face. He's never seen his dad so still, so quiet. It's like he's looking at a stranger. But he's not. This is the same man who taught him to tie his shoes, who read him bedtime stories, and who always had the best pranks for Mr. Krabs. The sedative's hold starts to loosen. "It'll wear off soon," she whispers. Chip nods. "I'll stay here," he says, his voice determined. Plankton's eye twitches. A soft murmur escapes. Karen watches. "It's okay," she whispers, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "He's coming back." Slowly his eyelid flutters open, his eye unfocused. "Wheh..." he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's screen glows with relief. "Welcome back, love," she says softly. Plankton blinks, his gaze slowly finding hers. "What... what happened?" His antennae twitch. Her voice is gentle. "You had a meltdown. Remember?" He frowns, the memory distant. "Chip accidentally touched your plushie, and it just... it was too much." Chip nods. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae droop. His eye widens with horror. "Chip," he murmurs. He tries to sit up, but his body is heavy with sleep. Karen's hand on his chest gently presses him back down. "It's ok," she says. "You're safe. We're here." Plankton's eye darts around the room. And he sees Chip, his son, sitting by his side, looking at him. "Wibbly wobbly," he murmurs. "Wibbly wobbly." Chip now understood why his dad is repeating random words. "It's okay, Dad," he says. "You're safe." Plankton's eye focused, his antennae still. "Chip," he whispers. "Wibbly wobbly... wibbly wobbly..." Chip nods, his screen now clear. He understands. These random phrases are his dad's way of navigating the world after a storm. They're his anchors in the chaos, his way of finding calm. "Pranks," Plankton says, his voice a whisper. "Ponies." Chip nods. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. These words, his stims, are his lifeboat, his way to find peace. "It's okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae still. "Car tape." Karen nods. "Yes." He whispers, "Io." "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "You're home." "Io," Plankton murmurs again, clapping his hands. Chip frowns, not understanding. "It's alright, Chip," Karen explains. "It's just his way of reorienting. See, love, everything's okay." "Karen?" Plankton's voice is a question. "Chip?" Karen nods. "We're right here." Plankton's hand moves to his antennae, his thumb rubbing them absently. It's a soothing gesture, a way to ground himself in reality. "What happened?" Karen's screens flicker with the memory of the chaos. "You had a meltdown," she says gently. "But it's okay. You're safe now." Plankton's eye narrows, his mind racing. He remembers the anger, the noise, the need to escape. "Chip," he says again, his voice filled with regret as he sees his son. Karen nods, her screen softening. "Chip's okay," she assures him. "He saw what happened." Plankton's antennae twitch. He's torn between apologizing and retreating. Chip's voice is small. "Dad, it's okay. I know it's not you." Plankton's eye meets his son's, but he knows he lost control. He feels the bed dip as Karen sits beside him. Her hand finds his, her grip firm and warm. "Remember, love, it's the autism." Plankton nods, his antennae still. He starts to rock, his body swaying back and forth, his way to soothe. Karen knows this motion means he's trying to regain control. "Hhmmm..." he murmurs, the sound deep in his throat. "It's okay," Karen whispers. "You're okay." "Hmm hmm hmm," Plankton continues, his voice a gentle rumble. "What's he doing?" Chip asks, his voice hushed. "It's his way of calming down," Karen explains, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's using humming to soothe himself." "Is he okay?" Karen's hand in his is a reminder that they're all still here, still a family. "It's okay," she says. "This is his way of finding peace." Plankton's humming grows louder, more insistent. "Hmm hmm hmm," he murmurs, his antennae now still. His body rocks in a gentle rhythm, his eye focused on some invisible horizon. "It's okay," Karen whispers. "This is his way." "Dad," Chip asks softly. "Is it helping?" Plankton's hum deepens, his antennae still. Karen nods. "It's his way of finding his center again," she says. Chip watches, his screen filled with concern. Then, Plankton's hand reaches out, grasping at the air. "Karen," he whispers, his voice desperate. "Huggly?" Her heart breaks for her husband. "Plankton," she says softly, her hand on his back. "Do you want me to rock you?" He nods, his antennae still. "Huggly," he whispers, his voice a plea. With a gentle touch, Karen picks him up, cradling his small frame in her arms. He's heavier than he looks, but she doesn't care. This is her Plankton, her love. Plankton's body goes limp, his head resting on her shoulder. She starts to rock him, the motion smooth and even as his eye flutters. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lullaby. "We're here." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. The rocking becomes a rhythm, a dance between comfort and pain. Karen's screen flickers with the memory of their first dance, their first kiss, the first time she held him in his arms and promised to love him, autism and all. Chip watches, his screen reflecting a mix of fear and fascination. "Is he okay?" he whispers. "Shh," Karen murmurs. "This is his way." Her screens flicker with a soft light. "You're doing great, love," she says to Plankton. "You're okay." The room is quiet except for Plankton's steady breathing and Karen's gentle rocking. Chip watches, his eyes on his father's peaceful face. The rocking slows, Plankton's breaths even out. His antennae no longer quiver with tension. "Hmm," he murmurs, his body relaxing in Karen's embrace. Plankton's humming fades, replaced by the soft snores of sleep. Karen lowers his head to the pillow, his antennae still. Chip looks up at his mother, his screen etched with questions. "What do we do now?" he asks. Karen's eyes don't leave Plankton's sleeping form. "Now," she says, "we wait. He'll wake up soon." Her screens dim, the tension of the room easing. "It's important to let him sleep it off," she explains. "The meltdown takes a lot out of him." Chip nods, his thoughts racing. He's seen his dad like this before, but never so lost. The Plankton he knows is clever, funny, a master of pranks. This Plankton, the one curled up on the bed, is different. He's vulnerable, raw. It's a side of his dad Chip's still learning to navigate.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ix (By NeuroFabulous) Karen stepped in, her voice calm but firm. "Chip, let's give your dad some space," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "He needs time to process this." Chip nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. He looked at Plankton one last time, his hand still hovering in the air. Plankton's antennas were still quivering, but his eye had softened slightly. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He stepped back, allowing Karen to lead him out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind them, Chip couldn't help but feel a sense of failure. He had wanted to bridge the gap between them, but instead, it felt like he had only driven it wider. Chip couldn't shake the image of his dad's antennas, a silent language of pain and anger. He knew he needed to learn to understand these subtle cues, to navigate the complex world of his father's autism. In the quiet hallway, Chip swiped at his eyes, trying to comfort himself with the knowledge that Plankton's outburst wasn't personal. It was just his brain's way of coping with the overwhelming emotions. But understanding didn't make the hurt any less real. He looked up at Karen, his eyes pleading. "What do we do?" Karen's expression was a mix of sadness and resilience. "We give him space," she said firmly. "He needs to come to terms with his feelings in his own way." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the closed door. "But what if he doesn't want me around?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen took a deep breath, her hand rubbing his back in gentle circles. "Your dad loves you, Chip," she assured him. "He's just scared that you'll never truly understand him." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "But you can show him that you're willing to try." They walked down the hallway, leaving Plankton's room behind them. Chip felt his heart heavy in his chest, the weight of his father's pain pressing down on him. "How?" he asked, his voice small. "How do I show him?" Karen squeezed his shoulder. "You just do," she said, her voice filled with a quiet strength. "You learn about autism, you learn about his likes and dislikes, and you listen to him." He had wanted to make his father happy, but instead, he had pushed him away. He sat down on the couch, his shoulders slumped. Meanwhile, Plankton remained in his room, his antennas drooping as his thoughts raced. He felt the weight of their conversation, his chest tight with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. He eventually goes out to find Chip and Karen in the living room. "Chip," he said, his voice shaky but determined. Chip looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and hopeful. Plankton stood in the doorway, his antennas slightly less rigid than before. Karen nodded encouragingly, giving him a gentle push forward. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennas twitched, his gaze drifting to the floor. "I know," he murmured. "But you have to understand, it's not easy." He took a deep breath, his body visibly relaxing. "I don't mean to push..." Karen stepped in, her voice soothing. "Why don't we all do something we enjoy?" she suggested. "Maybe something that won't overwhelm?" Chip's eyes lit up at the thought. "Yeah, like what?" Plankton took a moment, his antennas moving slightly as he thought. "How about a trip?" he suggested, his voice tentative. "Drive to the beach. It's quiet and calming." Chip's face lit up with excitement. "The beach?" He hadn't been in ages, and it was one of Plankton's favorite places. "Yes, let's do that!" Karen gave Plankton a warm smile. "That's a great idea," she said, her voice filled with relief and gratitude. In the car, the tension slowly began to dissipate as the ocean air filled the vehicle. Chip sat in the back, fidgeting with his seatbelt. "Dad, I want to ask you something," he said, his voice tentative. Plankton turned in his seat, his antennas twitching with curiosity. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a little softer than before. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "I just want to know what I can do to help," he said, his eyes earnest. "What do you like?" Plankton's antennas moved slightly, a sign that he was processing the question. "Well," he began, his voice still tight with emotion, "I like it when you're patient with me." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's profile. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "What else?" Plankton's antennas moved slightly as he thought. "I like it when you ask before you touch me," he said. "And when you respect my need for quiet sometimes." His eye flickered to the side, looking at Chip. "And I like it when you don't try to change me." Chip nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "I'll try, Dad," he said, his voice earnest. "I'll always ask, and I'll always love you just the way you are."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 18 (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 Chip's screen flickers with determination. He'll learn. He'll do better. He'll show Plankton that he's not just a clueless kid. He's his son, and he cares. He'll be the support Plankton needs, even if it means changing everything he thought he knew. He'll read about autism, he'll watch videos, he'll listen to podcasts. He'll become an expert on his dad's condition. He'll find a way to bridge the gap between them, to understand what Plankton's really going through. So he went to his room but a disturbing sight awaited him. The photos of him and his dad have been torn where Plankton cut himself out of each picture of him and Chip. The science projects they've worked on are in the trash bin. Past Father's Day cards, crumpled into balls. It's like Plankton's trying to erase his existence from their shared memories of father and son. Chip sees Plankton in his parents bedroom on his bed. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his screen flickering with hope. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he doesn't turn to look at his son. The room is filled with a heavy silence, the weight of their last conversation pressing down on them. "Dad, I found some articles," Chip says, holding up his device. "They're about autism, and how to be there for someone who's going through what you are." His voice is tentative, his screen reflecting his fear of rejection. Plankton's antennae droop, his body tense. He's been in his room for hours, the door shut tight. The only light comes from the crack under the door, spilling into the hallway where Chip stands, his heart racing. He's read every word, every article, every story, desperate to find a way back in, to fix what he's broken. But Plankton's silence is a wall, a barrier he doesn't know how to cross. "I'll be different," Chip says, his voice cracking. "I'll learn." He takes a step forward. "I'll do anything." Plankton doesn't move. Chip's heart sinks. He tries again. "I brought some stuff for your sensory box. Maybe it'll help." The silence stretches on, each second a chasm between them. Chip's screen is a canvas of hope and despair, his mind whirling with all the ways he could have handled this better. He takes another step, his hand outstretched, holding the treasures he's collected. "I got some new putty, and a fidget cube," he says, his voice shaking. "And... and some of your favorite gummy worms." Plankton's antennae quiver, just a little, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart leaps, then plunges again. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, the words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to hurt you." The silence stretches, a tightrope that Chip is desperate to cross. He holds out the fidget cube, his hand shaking. "Remember how this helped before?" he asks, his voice tentative. "I just want you to feel better." But Plankton's back remains to him, a wall of disappointment. "Dad," Chip whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll do whatever it takes. I know I can't change the past. Please." Plankton's antennae twitch, the only sign he's heard. But he still doesn't turn. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's never felt so final. "I brought your headphones," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the noise. To help." His hand trembles as he holds them out. "Please, Dad, take them." Plankton's body shifts slightly, but his antennae stay still. Chip's heart aches. He's never felt so small, so powerless. "Dad, I know I messed up," Chip continues, his voice cracking. "But I'm trying to fix it. I want to learn." He takes a deep breath, his chest tight with emotion. "I'll do better. I promise." The silence is a gaping wound between them, each second a stitch that won't hold. He steps closer, his hand extended. "Just tell me what you need. Anything." But Plankton remains still, his antennae drooping with the weight of his emotions. Chip's heart races, his screen flashing with fear and regret. He can't stand the thought of his father going through this alone. "Dad, please," he says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry for not understanding. For making fun without realizing." His hand holding the headphones shakes more. "But I do now. I'll be better." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he says nothing. Chip's eyes well up with tears, his screen a blur of emotions. He's never felt so alone, so misunderstood. "Dad," he says, his voice thick with desperation. "I know you're hurting. But so am I." Plankton's body remains still, his back a wall against his son's words. Chip's hand, holding the headphones, drops to his side. "Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Let me help you." The silence in the room is deafening, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip can feel his father's pain, his anger, his hurt. But Plankton's silence is a fortress, an impenetrable barrier that Chip can't seem to breach. He swallows hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I love you, Dad," he says, his voice barely audible. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces. He's never seen his dad like this, so closed off. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry. But please, let me in." His hand holds out the headphones, his screen reflecting the desperation in his eyes. "We can get through this together." But Plankton's back remains a wall. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his screen flickering with the pain of rejection. He tries again, his voice trembling. "I won't give up on you," he says. "I'll learn. I'll change. I'll do whatever it takes." He takes a step closer. But Plankton remains unmoving, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart feels like it's breaking. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers. "I'm right here." The silence is a chasm, each second a step further apart. He takes another step, his hand still outstretched. "Dad," he says, his voice a plea. "You don't have to go through this alone." Plankton's antennae twitch, a tiny movement that gives Chip just a glimmer of hope. "We can learn together," he says, his voice stronger now. "We can figure this out." The room feels like it's closing in around them, the air thick with the weight of Plankton's silence. But Chip refuses to give up. He knows his father is in there, behind the wall of anger and hurt. He can't let him go. "Dad," he says, his voice steady. "I know you're in pain. But I'm not leaving." Chip says, sitting on the bed.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 3 Plankton notices the shift in Chip's expression and his own face falls. He's been so scared of this moment, of being seen as less than. He's always tried to keep his stims under wraps, to appear as 'normal' as possible. But now it's all out in the open, and he can't hide anymore. Karen reaches for Plankton's hand, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, love. You don't have to be afraid. Chip's smart, he'll understand." She looks back at Chip, her eyes pleading. "Remember what we talked about, Chip. Your dad's stimming is his way of coping with the world, and it's something that makes him feel safe and comfortable. Yet we need to understand that when he's doing it, it's his personal time. It's just not for us to intrude on. Because for him, it's like a secret conversation he's having with himself." Chip nods slowly, his eyes flicking from his dad's face to his mom's, trying to digest the new reality that's being laid out before him. Plankton takes a deep, shuddering breath, his rocking coming to a stop. Karen stands up, walking over to Plankton, and kisses him on the cheek. "Why don't you go wash up, sweetie?" she suggests gently. "I'll talk to Chip." Plankton nods, his expression a mix of relief and fear. He slides out of bed, his legs shaky, and heads to the bathroom. The moment the door clicks shut, Karen turns to Chip, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "You see, Chip," she starts, her voice softer now, "Your dad's stimming is like his private conversation with his brain. Sometimes, he'll start saying random things, talking to himself, working through his thoughts and feelings. So when you commented on it, it was like you interrupted a conversation he was having to himself, which can be upsetting." Chip nods, his eyes following the path his dad took to the bathroom. "But what if he's hurt?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do we know if it's okay?" Karen sighs, her expression softening. "That's a good question, Chip. We just need to be observant. If he's happy or upset, his stims might be different. And if he ever looks like he's in pain, or if he's distressed, that's when we step in, but first ask." She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the next part of their conversation. "But it's also important to remember that even though we can't always understand what he's feeling or why he stims, it's his way of dealing with the world. So we need to be respectful, and not make him feel weird or uncomfortable." Chip nods, his gaze still on the bathroom door. "I don't want to make him feel bad," he says, his voice sincere. Karen sits back down beside him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. "We know" she assures him. "You're a good kid, Chip. You'll learn to read him better than anyone else." As Plankton emerges from the bathroom, his face is washed clean, but the fear lingers in his eye. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid. Karen looks at him with love and patience, waiting for him to speak. "Chip," she starts, her voice careful. "You know how everyone has their own ways of dealing with stuff, right?" Chip nods, his gaze flipping between his parents. "Well, your dad's brain works a bit differently than ours. Sometimes, he needs to do things like rocking or making sounds to help him think and feel better. He may even repeat words or phrases, which is called echolalia. It's all part of his autism, and it's his way of navigating through the world." Karen's eyes are filled with a mixture of love and hope as she speaks. "These are his stims, and they're very personal to him. It's like his own secret language, a way to communicate with himself. So when you see him doing these things, it's important to remember that he's not doing it for show, or for attention. It's his brain's way of talking to him, of keeping him calm." Plankton nods slowly, his eye dull with the weight of his secret now out in the open. "And sometimes," Karen adds, "I've seen him come out of seizures while talking to his brain." "Seizures?" Chip asks, his voice laced with fear. Plankton winces at the word, but Karen nods. "They're not like the seizures you might think of, sweetie. They're a part of his autism. It's like his brain's way of restarting, of reorganizing itself when things get too much." Plankton finally speaks up, his voice shaky. "I don't like it when you saw me like that Chip," he admits. "Now I'm... exposed. So just GO AHEAD AND STARE." He throws his hands up in a dramatic gesture, his sarcasm clear. Chip flinches, feeling a pang of guilt. Karen puts a gentle hand on Plankton's knee. "Chip wasn't staring, sweetie. He was just trying to understand." She turns to Chip. "It's okay to be curious, but remember, Dad's stims are like his personal bubble. They help him feel safe when the world is too loud or confusing. So unless he's really upset or in pain, we respect that space." Chip nods, feeling a mix of understanding and awkwardness. He's never thought about his dad's quirks as being part of something so... significant. "Okay," he says, his voice small. "I'll try not to stare or interrupt." Karen smiles warmly at him. "That's all we ask, buddy. Just love him the way you always have. And if you have any questions, you can always come to us. We're a team, and we're all here for each other."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 4 Plankton looks at Chip, his eye searching for any sign of judgment or fear. But all he sees is confusion and concern. "I-I-I-I… I just..." Karen takes over, her voice soothing. "It's okay, Plankton. You don't have to explain everything right now. Chip just needs to understand that your stimming is private." "But why does he have to know?" Plankton asks, his voice tight with anxiety. "Why can't it just be our secret?" Karen's expression is one of compassion. "Because, love," she says, her hand still on his knee, "Chip is part of our family, and he deserves to know who you really are. And his knowing won't change how much we love you." Plankton nods slowly, but the fear in his eye doesn't dissipate entirely. Chip sits quietly, watching his parents interact. He's never seen this side of his dad before, and it's unsettling. But he doesn't want to make things worse. "I won't say anything, Dad," he promises, going to hug him. "And I'll try to underst--" "Don't!" Plankton recoils, his body stiffening at the sudden touch. Chip freezes, his arms outstretched, unsure of what just happened. Karen's face falls. "Chip, remember. Let him come to you when he's ready." She looks at Plankton, apology in her eyes. Plankton nods slightly, his cheeks reddening. "It's okay," Chip says, pulling away and sitting back down on the bed. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you, Dad." Plankton's eye softens, but he turns away, now talking to himself, his voice low and quick. "I told him not to stare," he mumbles. "Doesn't he understand." His eye darts around the room, focusing on nothing. Karen watches him, her heart aching. Plankton's stims had always been their secret, something they'd navigated together. Now, it was witnessed by Chip. Plankton's voice grew louder, his words a jumbled mess as he spoke to himself. "I shouldn't have let him see, no," he said. "Not. Today." Karen watched him, her heart breaking for her husband. She knew how much he valued his privacy, how much his autism was a part of his identity, and now it was out in the open for their son to see. Chip looked at his mom, his eyes full of confusion and concern. Karen squeezed Plankton's hand and turned to Chip. "Remember, buddy, sometimes Dad needs to talk to himself to make sense of things. It's his way of organizing his thoughts." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "But why can't I hug you, Dad?" he asked softly. Karen's voice was calm as she explained. "Sometimes, when people with autism get overwhelmed, physical contact can be too much for them to handle, even if it's from someone they love. And your dad's sensitive to certain touch Chip, okay?" Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "It's okay, Chip," Karen said, her voice soft. "Dad's just talking to himself, like I said. It's his way of making sense of things." She watched as Chip processed this, his eyes never leaving his father. "But remember, it's his conversation. We should let him have it without interrupting. And right now, he's okay. He's just... thinking out loud." She glanced at Plankton, whose eye had stopped darting around and was now focused on the floor. Chip nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him. "But Mom, why does he need to st-" "I don't need to explain myself to you!" Plankton snapped, cutting him off. "You wouldn't understand anyway!" His voice was sharp, like a knife slicing through the quiet of the room. Chip's eyes widened, and he took a step back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice small. "I just wanted to kno—" "Chip," Karen interjected, her voice gentle but firm. "Remember what you learned. Dad's stimming is his private time. We need to respect that." She turned to Plankton, her expression full of understanding. "It's okay, love. You don't have to explain." Plankton took a deep breath, his rocking starting up again. "But what if he doesn't respect me anymore?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen leaned in, her eyes filled with love. "Chip loves you, Plankton. And now he knows a little more about you. That's all." But Chip's questions didn't stop. He was like a detective piecing together a puzzle, his curiosity unyielding. "What about the sounds yo--" "Chip," Karen's voice was firm but kind. "Remember what we said. Dad's stims are personal. Let's give him space." But Chip's mind was racing, trying to make connections. "But does he make sounds wh-" "Chip," Plankton cut him off, his voice strained. "Just KNOCK IT OFF and leave me alone, okay?" Chip felt the sting of his dad's words, his heart sinking. He'd never seen Plankton so agitated. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Chip," she said softly, turning him to face her. "Your dad's had a lot to process today. Let's just give him some space, okay?" With a nod, Chip backed away from the bed, his eyes on his dad, who had resumed rocking. He retreated to his room. He'd always thought his dad was just quirky, a bit odd at times, but now it all made sense. The way he'd get lost in his thoughts, the way he'd repeat things, and how he'd sometimes need his space. It was all part of this... 'autism'. It was a lot to take in, but he was determined to understand. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand resting lightly on his back. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Chip just needs time to understand." Plankton's rocking slowed, his breathing returning to normal. "But what if he's embarrassed?" he asked, his eye still fixed on the floor. "Embarrassed?" Karen echoed, her voice gentle. "Why would he be embarrassed? You're his dad, and he loves you just as you are. This is just something new for him to learn." Plankton's shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 5 The next morning, Chip decided to go into his parent's shared bedroom. Karen was sitting beside Plankton, who was in his bed. Her hand was gently tracing patterns on his arm. Plankton's eye was closed, and the only sound in the room was his softly rhythmic snoring. The sight of his dad lying there, peaceful and quiet, was comforting. Plankton's chest moved up and down with each breath, and Chip felt his own anxiety start to ease. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his dad sleep, his curiosity now tempered with empathy. Karen smiled at him, her eyes full of understanding. "It's okay," she whispered. "He's just resting." Chip nodded, watching Plankton's antenna twitching ever so slightly with each breath. He'd never seen his dad so still, so... peaceful. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun, and the quiet was almost sacred. Chip could see now how Plankton's stims were like a shield, how they protected him from a world that could be too much at times. And in sleep, that shield was down, revealing the vulnerable man beneath. Karen's hand continued to trace gentle patterns on his arm. Chip reached out, his own hand hovering over Plankton's arm, unsure if he should touch him. "It's okay," Karen mouthed, seeing the uncertainty in Chip's eyes. "He's sleeping." So Chip placed his hand lightly on Plankton's arm, mimicking his mom. The warmth of Plankton's skin under his palm felt surprisingly normal. For a moment, Chip forget about the storm of the previous night and the revelation of his dad's autism. He watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft snores that punctuated the silence. Karen's eyes remained on her husband, a tender smile playing on her lips. Her hand never ceased its gentle motion, the love in the action palpable. The sun painted the room in soft, warm light, casting a gentle glow across the crumpled bedcovers and the slightly open mouth of the sleeping Plankton. The rhythmic sound of his snores filled the space, a comforting symphony to Karen's ears. She'd heard it a thousand times before, each inhale and exhale a testament to his survival in a world that often felt too much for him. Chip sat silently, his hand tentatively resting on Plankton's arm. In sleep, Plankton's armor was down, revealing the softness beneath. His stims, the protective shells he'd built around his thoughts, had ceased. The tension in his body was replaced by a gentle relaxation, as if even in his subconscious, he knew he was safe. Karen's hand on Plankton's arm was a silent testament to their bond, a wordless conversation that transcended the barriers of his condition. The gentle movements, almost imperceptible to an outsider, were a soothing balm to Plankton's nervous system. Chip felt a wave of love and protectiveness for his father wash over him, a feeling that grew stronger as he watched his mom's caring ministrations. He studied the contours of Plankton's face, his sleep-slackened jaw and the soft snores that rumbled. He thought about the stims he'd seen the night before, the rocking, the muttering. Now, his dad's quietude spoke volumes about his need for space and understanding. Chip swallowed hard, his own thoughts racing. He knew his curiosity could sometimes be intrusive, but he couldn't help it. He wants to know everything about his dad, now more than ever. As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's snores grew softer, until they were just a faint whisper in the room. Karen's hand never stopped moving, her eyes never leaving his face. It was like watching a dance, a silent conversation that only the two of them understood. Chip felt a lump in his throat, the gravity of the situation starting to hit him. He'd always known his dad was different, but now he knew why. Autism was a part of Plankton that couldn't be fixed or ignored, it was a piece of him, as essential as his antennae or his love for Krabby Patties. He watched as Karen continued her silent vigil, her touch a gentle reminder of his dad's humanity amidst his neurodivergence. Plankton was still the same person, his quirks and tics a part of his identity, not a flaw to be hidden. Chip's mind was full of questions. How had his dad managed to keep this a secret for so long? Why did he feel the need to mask his true self? He knew his dad was different, but he'd never fully grasped the extent of it. Plankton had always been a whirlwind of energy, his brain firing on all cylinders. But now, watching him sleep, his body at peace, Chip saw the weight that Plankton carried each day. The effort it took to navigate a world that wasn't built for him. The stims were his crutch, his way of finding balance. And Karen, his rock, always there, offering comfort with just a touch. Karen looked up, her eyes meeting Chip's. "You know," she said softly, "your dad's always been like this. Since before you were born. And I fell in love with him knowing of it, not despite it." Chip felt his eyes sting with tears. He'd never thought about his parents' relationship in this light before, the quiet strength that must have been there from the start. He watched as Karen leaned forward and kissed Plankton's forehead. "He's always been my hero," she whispered. "And now, I want you to see him that way too." Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He took a deep breath and moved closer to the bed, his hand still hovering above Plankton's arm. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you need from me?" Karen's eyes never left Plankton's face, but she squeezed Chip's hand. "Just love him, Chip," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Be his rock, just like I am." Chip nodded, understanding dawning. He leaned in and kissed his dad's cheek, his hand now resting gently on his arm. Plankton's snores hitched at the contact, and Chip froze, his heart racing as Plankton's eye fluttered open.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 6 For a moment, Plankton looked confused, his gaze fuzzy with sleep. But then recognition set in. "Chip?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Chip swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah, Dad," he managed to say. "I just came to say good mo-" Before he could finish, Plankton's eye widened, his body tensing. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his tone sharper than Chip had ever heard it. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with the sudden tension. "I-I just wanted to tell you I love you," Chip stuttered, his hand retreating from his dad's arm. Plankton's gaze searched Chip's face, looking for something, anything that would explain this invasion of his personal space. Karen stepped in, her voice calm. "It's okay, Plankton. Chip just wanted to show his love, that's all." But Plankton wasn't easily soothed. His eye narrowed at Chip, his mind racing. "But why?" Plankton's voice was low, almost a growl. "Why do you need to do it like that?" Chip felt the weight of his dad's question, the unspoken fear behind the words. It was a question about boundaries, about the unspoken rules that Plankton had always followed. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip said, his voice quiet. "I didn't mean to scare you." He looked to Karen for guidance, but she just nodded, encouraging him to find his own words. Plankton's eye searched Chip's face, looking for sincerity. "I just wanted to tell you that I understand now," Chip continued. "I know you have to do those things to feel okay. I promise, I won't make you feel weird about i---" But Plankton was already sitting up, his face flushed with anger. "Weird?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "Is that what you think of me?" He pushed the covers away, his body vibrating with agitation. "Is that how you'll tell your neurotypical friends?" Chip's heart sank, his words unintentionally striking a nerve. "No, Dad," he said quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to make sure I don't do anything that makes you uncomf-" "Uncomfortable?" Plankton finished for him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, how considerate of you." Chip felt a pang of guilt, his words sticking in his throat. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. "I just... I didn't know how to... " Plankton took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You don't get it," he said, his voice tight. "You can't just... touch me like that." His eye searched the room, as if seeking a retreat from the sudden onslaught of emotion. Karen stepped closer, her voice soothing. "Chip didn't mean to upset you, Plankton. He's just trying to understand." But Plankton couldn't hear her, his mind racing with a barrage of thoughts. He'd always been so careful to keep this hidden from his son, fearful of the rejection he'd faced in the past. Chip's eyes were wide with apology and confusion. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said again, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to show you that I care. I mean, you let Mom to-" "It's different," Plankton interrupted, his voice strained. "Your mom knows me. She understands me." His hand went to his chest, where his heart felt like it was racing. "But you... don't you DARE ever touch me again without asking," he spat out, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. Karen sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the conversation. "Plankton, honey," she began, her voice gentle. "Chip just wants to support you. He's trying to be there for you in his own way." Plankton's eye narrowed, his body still tense. "But he doesn't understand," he said, the frustration evident. "No one does, except for you." Karen reached for his hand, but he pulled away, his movements quick and jerky. Chip watched, feeling like he'd just walked into a minefield without a map. He didn't know what to say, how to make it right. He just knew he didn't want his dad to feel this way. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'll do better. I'll le-" "Don't," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "Don't make promises you can't keep." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body language closed off. "I don't want your pity, Chip." His words were like a slap in the face, and Chip felt his cheeks burn with shame. Karen stepped between them, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's not pity, sweetie," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "It's love and support." Plankton's eye flitted to hers, then back to Chip. "I don't need Chip's help," he said, his voice quivering. "But Dad," Chip began, "I just-" "I SAID DON'T!" Plankton's voice boomed through the room, his face a mask of fury. His antennae quivered with agitation, and he retreats to the corner of the room. A sign Karen knew was his way of shutting down. But Chip doesn't realize this as he tries to go to Plankton's writhing body on the floor. "Chip," Karen's voice was firm, "He's not with us right now. Let me only." Chip stepped back, his eyes wide with concern as he watched. Plankton was in a pose that screamed 'don't touch me'. His legs were curled tight to his body, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his eye squeezed shut, his antennae pressed against his head. It was a position that spoke of overwhelm, a silent scream for space and solitude. Karen watched him carefully, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She wanted to go to him, to wrap him in her arms and tell him everything was okay. But she knew better. This was his retreat, she had to respect it. "Give him some space," she whispered to Chip, who was hovering uncertainly. "He needs time to regulate." Chip nodded, his eyes still glued to his dad's shaking form. He looked so small, so lost in his own little corner. Plankton's breathing was shallow and fast, his antennae twitching eratically. Karen knew this was his safe place, his retreat from a world that often felt too loud, too much. She walked over, sat down next to him, but not too close. She knew better than to invade his bubble. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "You're safe here." Plankton's body didn't react, but she saw his hand, which had been gripping the floor, relax ever so slightly. It was a small victory, but one she'd take.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 7 The room was silent, save for Plankton's shallow breaths. Karen could almost hear his thoughts racing, his mind a whirlwind of sensory input and emotions. She sat still, her eyes never leaving his form, her hand staying close but not touching. Chip hovered by the door, his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to help, to fix this, but his mom's words echoed in his mind: 'respect his space'. It was a concept that was hard to grasp, but he knew it was important. He watched as his dad's legs shook, his whole body a testament to the storm inside him. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's shaking form. Her heart broke for him, for the fear and frustration that she knew was churning within. She reached out a tentative hand, letting it hover just above his shoulder. "It's ok," she whispered. But Plankton flinched, his body stiffening at the uninvited contact as he turned his back to them, now facing the wall. She knew this look well, had seen it before. The room was suffocating with silence, the tension thick like a layer of fog. Chip felt his own anxiety rising, unsure of what to do. He'd never seen his dad like this, so... vulnerable. He took a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out. "Dad?" he asked softly. Plankton's spasms grew more erratic, his antennae quivering like leaves in a storm. He didn't look up, his breathing shallower with each passing second. It was as if he'd shrunk in on himself, retreating into his own world where no one could follow. Chip's heart ached, watching his dad's body convulse with silent sobs, his shoulders heaving as he tried to regain control. The room was a tableau of pain, each second stretching into an eternity. Karen sat with her back against the wall, her hand still hovering, but not daring to make contact again. Her eyes were filled with a blend of love and despair, the same look she'd worn so many times before when Plankton's autism had overwhelmed him. But Chip had never seen this side of his dad, had never known the depth of his struggle. Plankton's body was a maelstrom of movements, each spasm a silent cry for help. His antennae thrashed against the floor, his legs kicked out in a frantic dance. It was a sight that would have been terrifying to anyone who didn't understand, but Karen's eyes never left him, her expression calm and knowing. She'd seen this before, had held the line between panic and peace for her husband countless times. And then, through the chaos, a sound. Plankton's voice, barely above a murmur, speaking to himself. "My stims," he whispered, his hands moving in the air, mimicking his own motions. "They're just... they're just a part of it." The words seemed to hang there, suspended in the heavy silence of the room. Karen watched him, her heart breaking a little more with each word. She knew he was trying to make sense of it all, to reconcile his fear of being different with his need to be understood. Chip's eyes widened in surprise, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected moment of self-reflection from his dad. "They're just... they're just a part of it," Plankton murmured again, his voice a little louder this time. His antennae stilled, his body slowly uncoiling from the tight ball he'd curled into. Karen took this stimming as a sign that the storm is passing. "What's a part of it, Dad?" Chip asked, his voice tentative. Karen shot him a warning look, but Plankton didn't seem to hear. "My fidgets," Plankton said, his voice still barely above a whisper. "My autism... it is just part of it." His hand continued to mimic the movements, a silent conversation with himself. Chip's mind raced. "You're not to weird, Dad," Chip blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. Plankton's movements stilled, his antennae dropping to his side. He turned to look at Chip, his eye filled with something akin to surprise. "What did you say‽" Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "I said you're not weird, Dad," he repeated, his voice slightly stronger. "Your stims are just part of who you are." Plankton's expression turned angry, his body taut with tension. "Don't patronize me, boy!" Plankton snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" His body was a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Chip felt a flare of anger in response, but swallowed it down. "Dad, I'm not," he said, his voice calm despite his own turmoil. "I'm just saying that I see you, all of you. And I love you. I don't think your stims are weird. They're just... you." Plankton's body remained tense. "STOP talking about it!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. He'd never seen his dad like this. He didn't know how to fix it. "Dad, I-" he started to say, but Plankton cut him off. "I said stop!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his body trembling with anger and embarrassment. He didn't want Chip to see him like this, so vulnerable, so out of control. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing against his skin. Karen's heart clenched at the raw pain in Plankton's voice. She knew this moment was about more than just his stims, it was about his fear of rejection, of being seen as less than. "Plankton, honey, look at me," she said gently, trying to cut through the maelstrom of his emotions. "Chip's just trying to understand. We all are." But Plankton's eye remained locked on the floor, his breaths quick and shallow. He felt like an exhibit in a museum, his private world laid bare for his son to see. The fear of rejection was a living, breathing entity in the room, wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket. He'd managed to hide his stims for so long, to keep that part of him hidden away. Now, it was out in the open, raw and exposed. Plankton's eye darted between Karen and Chip, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the cracks of the floorboards. But he knew he couldn't. Not now. Not when Chip kept looking at him with such confusion and concern. "Dad, I just-" Chip started again, his voice filled with earnestness. But Plankton couldn't take it. The words felt like a knife twisting in his gut. "I SAID, STOP!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the room. The sound was like a gunshot, and Chip's words died in his throat. Karen watched the exchange, her heart heavy with sadness. She knew Plankton's anger was a defense mechanism, his way of dealing with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to drown him. But seeing her son hurt by it was almost more than she could bare. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the storm. "Plankton," she said calmly, moving closer to him, her hand outstretched but not touching. "It's okay, sweetie. Chip's just trying to be here for you." But Plankton's eye was wild, his body a coil of tension. He was in full meltdown mode, and Karen knew better than to push him.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 10 Plankton's antennae twitched with the effort to hold himself together, his body trembling. He wished he could retreat into the safety of his own world, where words didn't have the power to cut so deep. But he was trapped here, in a nightmare that felt all too real. Karen's eyes were a pool of sorrow, her hand hovering in the air like a ghostly specter, unable to find refuge on his shaking form. She knew she'd hurt him, and the weight of her mistake was almost too much to bear. She wanted to take back her words, erase the pain from his memory. But she knew that was a futile wish. The room was a maelstrom of emotions, each one a shard of glass in the air, sharp and glinting with the promise of more harm. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes wide and full of fear. He'd never seen his dad like this, never felt the chasm that seemed to be growing between them. Karen's hand remained outstretched, a silent plea for connection. But Plankton's body was a wall of defense, every inch of him screaming for space. The touch that had once been a comfort was now a source of distress, a reminder of his own vulnerability. He could see the love in her eyes, but it was tainted with the memory of her hurtful word. He felt a tear slip down his face as Karen inched closer. "Plankton, I didn't mean it," she said again. But it was too late. The word had been spoken, the damage done. "Please, I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand still hovering a few inches from his shoulder. Plankton's antennae quivered, his body tense. The room was spinning around him, the walls closing in. He didn't want her touch, not now. It felt like a lie, a mockery of the love they shared. He didn't know how to explain his fear, his hurt. He could only whimper and tremble. Karen's heart was shattered with regret. She knew she'd hurt him, but she didn't know how to fix it. Her hand hovered, desperate for connection. "Plankton." She knew she'd hurt him. "Are you ok?" Plankton didn't move. He didn't know how to answer, didn't know how to express the turmoil churning inside him. He felt like he was drowning in his own emotions. Karen's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you." But Plankton's back was to the wall as she approached him in his corner. Plankton's antennae quivered, his heart racing. He knew Karen, his rock, his anchor, didn't mean to say it. But the pain was too fresh, too deep. The slur she'd used, even in anger, was a knife that had sliced through his soul. He felt the pressure building up inside him. "I-I-I-I… I lo-ove y-you, Karen.." Karen's hand was so close, yet so far. He wanted to lean into her embrace, to find solace in her love. But fear held him back, a cold, unyielding force that made his body tense. The room spun, the walls closing in. He was drowning in a sea of confusion, fear, and sadness. He watched her hand, so gentle, so loving. But the word still echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder that even those closest to him could cause him harm. Karen wanted to fix it. Karen took a step closer, her hand still hovering. "Please," she whispered. "Let me help." But Plankton was lost in the labyrinth of his emotions, his heart a cage of fear and pain. He couldn't find the words to explain, the strength to accept comfort. He whimpered. Her heart ached, her mind racing with doubt. Had she lost him? Had she broken the delicate trust they'd built over the years? Plankton's tremors grew, a silent symphony of distress that she could no longer ignore. Karen knew his fear of being seen as less than, the deep-seated anxiety that his autism could be weaponized against him. She needed to fix this, to rebuild the bridge between them. "Plankton, I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his fear. "I'm right he--" But her words were cut off by a sudden spasm that rippled through his body, his antennae convulsing violently. Karen's eyes widened in horror as she recognized the signs. "Seizure," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The room swirled around them as she moved closer, her hand outstretched. Plankton's eye rolled back in his head as his legs start to buckle. Karen's hand shot out, catching him before he hit the ground. She eased him to the floor. Karen'd seen this before, too many times to count. "You're okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "I'm right here." Chip watched from the sidelines, his eyes wide with terror as his dad's body thrashed. He's never seen his dad like this before. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's body jerked once, twice, three times, before stilling. His antennae flailed wildly, then fell limp. Karen's eyes never left his face. She knew he'd still be quite out of it. Chip hovered, unsure of what to do. "Dad?" Karen's voice was calm. "This happens, Chip. He is conscious, but not really with us yet. Don't be alarmed if he says or does something that's not quite right." Plankton's legs rolled his body onto his side as drool trickles from his mouth. His antennae twitched erratically, his eye fluttered open and closed. Karen wiped the drool away, whispering comforts to him. "You're okay," she said, her voice soothing. "You're safe at home." His body was like a ragdoll's, his muscles loose and his movements involuntary. He was present, but not quite there, unable to grasp the concept, the words a jumble of sounds that barely registered. "W-water... blue... s-sticks," Plankton murmured. He was lost in his post-seizure haze, his thoughts a tangled web of sensory input. Chip watched, his heart in his throat. Karen's eyes were fixed on her husband. "It's ok, sweetie," she soothed. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched in response. "Cam... subs... s-sal-sal-sal?" Karen nodded, knowing better than to interrupt his stream of consciousness. "T-the it... makes... makes me dizzy! Yes; made me dizzy.." Plankton's words were a jumble of half-thoughts, his brain still trying to reassemble. Karen's heart broke at the sight of him, so lost in his own mind. "It's okay," she whispered, her hand stroking his back. Chip's eyes were wide, his own brain racing to understand what was happening. He'd never seen his dad like this before, his strength and certainty reduced to a quivering mass of confusion. "Dad?" his voice was small. Plankton clutched at the air, his hand then slapping the carpet beside him. "G-green... fishy... no, not fishy, fishy-fishy!" He giggled, his eye still unfocused. The words didn't make sense, even to him. Karen's hand continued to stroke his back, her heart aching at his distress. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "You're okay."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 11 The nonsensical words spilled out. "Fizz-fizz-fizz..." Karen watched him, her heart in her throat. She knew this was part of the process, his brain recalibrating after a seizure. "D-daddy?" Chip's voice was tiny. "What's happening?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to explain. "It's okay," she said, her voice shaky. "It's part of his autism. Sometimes, after a seizure, you dad's brain gets overwhelmed. He might say thi—" But Plankton's rambling cut her off. "Did? Might... m-m-mighty... mighty... no, not mighty... did!" He laughed to himself, his eye still unfocused. Karen knew that it was temporary, a side effect of the seizure. "Fizz-fizz-fish," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip watched, his eyes full of fear and curiosity. He'd never seen his dad so vulnerable. Karen took his hand, her grip firm. "It's okay," she whispered. "His brain is just... reorganizing." Plankton began to steady. His eye focused on Karen's face, his voice a little clearer. "K-Karen?" Her heart skipped a beat. "I'm here, sweetie," she said, smiling through her tears. "You're ok." Plankton's antennae twitched as he slowly came back to his surroundings, the fear and anger of moments ago replaced by confusion and dizziness. Karen moved closer. "Dad, are you okay?" Chip's voice was tentative. Plankton's antennae moved in jerky, uncontrolled motions as he tried to make sense of his environment. "I... I think so," he murmured, his eye slowly focusing on his son. The room was a blur of colors, the sounds muffled and distant. He felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken apologies and fear. He knew what had happened, the searing memory of the slur, the painful reminder that he was different. Plankton's antennae twitched as his thoughts slowly coalesced, his mind fighting to find purchase in the chaos. "W-what... what happen'd?" he stuttered. Karen's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of love and apology. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened before?" Plankton's antennae quivered of emotion. The argument, the slur, the pain... it all came rushing back. He nodded, his eye dropping to the floor. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I remember." Karen's hand hovered over his shoulder, but she didn't dare touch him yet. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "For everything.." Plankton nods. He knew she meant it, yet the sting of her words still lingered, like a shadow that wouldn't leave his side. "It's okay," he said, his voice a weak echo. "I know you didn't... but it still hurts." His antennae drooped, a silent testament to his pain. "Yet I forgive you, Karen." Karen's eyes filled with tears. "I know," she said. Chip nods. "I'm sorry too, Da-" But Plankton cut him off, his antennae jerking with irritation. "Don't," he murmured. "Don't say YOU'RE sorry. YOU don't understand. You're not like your mother." Chip felt the sting of truth in his dad's words. He didn't understand. He'd always thought he knew Plankton, but now he realized there was a world of experience, of pain, that he'd been blind to. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice desperate. "How ca--" But Plankton was already getting to his feet, his body shaky. "You can't," he said, his voice tight. "You can't make this right with sorrys." Chip felt the weight of his dad's words. "But I want to," he whispered. "I don't know what to do, but I wa-" Plankton's antennae twitched with agitation. "You don't know what it's like," he snapped. "You've never had to live with this, with people thinking you're less because of it." The room felt colder, the air heavier with each sharp syllable. "You can't fix this, Chip." Chip felt so helpless, so utterly powerless in the face of his father's pain. "But I want to understand," he protested, his voice a whisper of hope. "I want to help. I mean, you forgave Mo-" "I forgave her because she understood!" Plankton's voice was a whipcrack of anger. "You think your sorry fixes it?" his antennae trembled with agitation. "It doesn't. And don't compare yourself to your mother. She knows me, understands me, advocates for me. But you're not her, Chip. You're not even close." Chip felt the blow, the truth cutting through him like a knife. He knew Plankton was right. He didn't know what it was like, to live with autism, to fight against a world that didn't understand. He'd been blind to his father's struggles, his ignorance a wall between them. "What do you want me to-" But Plankton was already turning away, his body a rigid line of anger. "I want you to leave me alone," he snapped. "I don't need your pity or your half-hearted apologies!" Chip felt his world crumbling, his hope for understanding and reconciliation shattered by the coldness in his father's voice. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad..." Plankton's antennae jerked sharply. "I said leave me alone!" The words were a whip crack in the air, slicing through the tension. Chip didn't know what to do, how to make it right. Karen stepped in. "Chip, maybe you should give him some space," she suggested, her eyes filled with pain. Chip nodded, his heart heavy with defeat. He didn't want to leave, but he knew his presence was only adding to Plankton's distress. "Okay," he murmured, his feet dragging across the floor.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 12 As Chip retreated to his room, he couldn't help but feel the gap between them widen. He'd always thought they were close, that he knew his father inside and out. But now he realized there was so much more to Plankton. Karen's gentle touch was the only thing grounding Plankton to reality. He felt his anger dissipate, leaving a vacuum filled with exhaustion and sorrow. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his as he leaned into her embrace. His antennae stopped trembling as he allowed the warmth of her love to seep into his bones. "I know," he whispered. "I know." Plankton felt the exhaustion of the day's events settle over him like a thick blanket. The anger and fear drained from his body, leaving him weary and sleepy. His eye closed as he leaned into her touch. The room grew quieter. Karen held him close, her heart aching for his pain. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body heavy with exhaustion. His eyelid fluttered. He leaned into Karen's embrace, his body finally relaxing. Her hand stroked his back, soothing circles that seemed to lull him closer to slumber. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe." His breathing evened out, a gentle rise and fall that spoke of approaching sleep. "Rest," she murmured. "We can talk when you wake up." Karen felt the tension leave his body as sleep claimed him, her hand still moving in gentle circles. Her eyes searched his face, her heart a storm of emotions. She knew the seizure had taken a toll on him, knew the pain of his words was rooted in fear and hurt. As his breathing grew steadier, his antennae stilled, she felt the weight of his head against her shoulder, his trust in her a silent testament to their bond. Karen held him tight, his warmth seeping into her. She knew he needed this, needed to feel safe. His gentle snores filled the silence, a soft reminder that he was safe in her arms. Karen felt his body go slack, his antennae stilling as sleep claimed him. The anger had fled, leaving behind the fragile shell of his vulnerability. She held him closer, her heart aching for the pain he'd felt, the fear that still lingered. Her eyes searched his slumbering face, tracing the lines of his features with a soft touch. Plankton was her everything, her rock, her love. Gently, she picked him up, his body limp with the exhaustion. She carried him carefully as she laid him down, his antennae drooping in sleep. Karen tucked him in bed, her eyes lingering on his face. She made sure a favorite plushie was within reach. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his breathing deep and peaceful. With a soft sigh, she kissed his forehead. His antennae twitched but he didn't stir. Karen's eyes were filled with love and regret as she watched him sleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was a comforting testament to his resilience. The next morning, Karen knew she had to take Plankton to the dentist for x-rays. She woke Chip up. "Chip," she says. "Your dad has to go to the dentist today for a checkup." Chip nodded, his eyes still clouded with sleep. "Okay," he murmured. "Can I come?" "Yes." They arrive at Plankton's dentist office for the x-ray. The receptionist smiled. "Mr. Plankton, Dr. Coral will see you now." Dr. Coral greeted the family as they entered the exam room. "Good morning, Plankton," she smiled, her eyes kind. "So, today we're just going to do our usual x-rays. Can you open wide?" Plankton nodded, antennae twitching nervously. He sat in the chair, his legs swinging slightly as he tried to find a comfortable position. Karen held his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a soothing motion. "It'll be quick," she whispered. Chip sat in the corner, his eyes on his dad, his heart heavy with unspoken words. The assistant, a young clownfish named Penny, finished with taking x-rays. Dr. Coral peered at the images, her eyes flicking back and forth between the x-rays and Plankton's mouth. "Good job," Penny tells him. "Everything looks okay," Dr. Coral began. "Yet it looks like we have some wisdom teeth coming in. They're not causing anything right now, but we should go ahead and remove them as a preventative mea-" Plankton's antennae shot up. "No," he said firmly, his voice tight with anxiety. "I don't like... don't like poking... mouth... no." His stims grew more intense, his hands flapping at his side. Karen squeezed his hand, trying to offer reassurance. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's just a li-" "NO!" Plankton's voice was loud, echoing in the small room. Chip flinched. Dr. Coral's eyes widened slightly, but she remained calm. "Let's talk about this, Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "We can go slow." But Plankton was already spiraling. The mere mention of the procedure had ignited anxiety in him. His stims grew more intense, his antennae flailing wildly. "No poking, no poking, no poking!" he chanted, his body rocking in the chair. Dr. Coral's expression shifted, her gaze moving from the x-rays to Plankton. She knew he had special needs, had seen the signs of his autism before. But today was different. Today, the fear in his eye was palpable, his body a testament to the stress he was under. "Let's take it slow," she soothed, her voice a gentle wave. "We can talk about this, okay?" Plankton's antennae stilled slightly, his body tensing. "But no poking," he whispered, his eye wide with fear. Karen nodded, her eyes meeting Dr. Coral's. "We'll find a way," she promised. "A way that makes you feel safe." Dr. Coral nodded, her expression understanding. "We'll take it step by step, Plankton," she said, her voice low and calm. "We'll work together to find the best solution for you."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 16 "Wha...whath time ith it?" Plankton asked, his speech still thick. Karen glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "It's almost noon, sweetie," she said, her voice steady. "We're going to get you home, and you can take a nice, long nap." Plankton nodded, his eye half-closed. "Nan?" he repeated, the word almost a question. Karen nodded. "Yes, nap. And then we can make you something soft and yummy to eat." The mention of food seemed to rouse him slightly, his antennae perking up. "Puddink?" he mumbled. Karen laughed again. "Yes, sweetie, pudding." "Whewe...whath..." he slurred, his head rolling slightly. Karen chuckled. "You're so tired, aren't you?" Plankton nodded, his eye half-closed. "Home," he murmured. "Wan' home. Karen wiww make puddink?" "Yes, sweetie, we're going home," Karen said, her voice filled with warmth. "And can make pudding for you." She squeezed his hand. "Do you want chocolate or vanilla?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought. "Chocowate," he mumbled, his speech still slow. Chip watched his dad, his heart aching at the childlike way he spoke. It was both endearing and heart- wrenching, a stark reminder of the toll the anesthesia and surgery had taken on him. "Chocowate," Plankton repeated, his voice slurred. "Pwease." Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "Of course, sweetie," she soothed. "Chocolate pudding it is." Karen finally parked in their driveway. "We're home," she said softly, turning to face Plankton. His antennas twitched at the mention of home, his eye fighting to stay open. Karen helped him out of the car, his legs wobbly. "Come on," she coaxed, "Let's get you inside." Chip also followed them in. In the living room, Plankton stumbled to the couch, his stuffed animal still clutched in his arm. He looked around, his expression lost. "Bathwom?" he slurred. "No, Plankton," Karen laughed, helping him lay down. "You're home." Plankton's eye widened. "Chip?" he slurred. His son smiled, his own anxieties easing slightly. "Yeah, Dad, it's me." He approached the couch, his movements deliberate and slow. "Ith's sho bwight," Plankton whispered, his gaze flickering around the room. The normalcy of their home was overwhelming in his current state. Karen understood, her eyes filled with compassion. "Let's get you comfortable," she said, helping him adjust his pillows. "Do you need anything?" He looked at her with his one eye, so full of trust and confusion. "I needff Karen and-a Chip." Karen's heart melted at his words. "You have us," she whispered, brushing his forehead. "We're right here." Plankton nodded, his antennae finally still. "Thath's goob," he murmured. "Thath's vewy goob. Can Chip...can Chip thee me?" Chip's eyes widened slightly, his throat tight. He took a step closer to the couch. "Yeah, Dad, I'm here." Plankton's gaze found his son's, his antennae still droopy. "Tawk to me," he slurred. "Chip wanth tawk to me?" Chip nodded. "Of course, Dad." He took a seat next to him, his heart heavy. He wasn't used to seeing his dad so open, so... talkative. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he looked to Chip's voice, his mind still groggy from the surgery. "Wha...whath's wrong, Chip?" he mumbled, his words thick with the remnants of the anesthesia. Chip took a deep breath. "Nothing's wrong, Dad," he said softly. "I just want to be here with you." Plankton's antennae wobbled as he processed his son's words. "Wiww you thtay?" he asked, his eye half-closed. Karen watched from the kitchen, her eyes filled with love and concern. She knew his confusion was temporary, but it still tugged at her heartstrings. Chip nodded, his voice gentle. "Yeah, Dad, I'll stay." Plankton's antennae stilled. "Thath's good," he murmured. "Chip, can I... can I...hamv?" His voice was tiny, his one eye looking up at his son with hope. "Chip my hamg, hamv in youw hamv?" Chip felt a lump form in his throat. He knew that his dad was reaching out for comfort, seeking the safety of touch. Despite his initial shock, he nods. "Sure, Dad," he whispered, his voice thick. "You can have my hand." Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the offer, his eye still half-closed. He reached over, his movements sluggish, and grasped Chip's hand with his own. Chip felt his dad's grip tighten, his thumb stroking the back of his hand gently. The simple touch was a stark contrast to the firm handshakes and stern demeanor his dad usually allowed. Plankton's voice was barely audible as he whispered, "Than' you, Chip." Chip swallowed hard, his throat tight. "It's okay, Dad," he murmured back. "I'm right here." Karen watched them from the kitchen, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. The sight of his dad, so dependent and confused, was hard for Chip to process. Yet, he felt a strange comfort in it, a bond forming between them that transcended the typical father- son dynamics. Plankton's eye grew heavy, his antennae drooping. "Sowwy," he mumbled. "Wan' go...go sleep. No moreth of touch." Chip nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. "It's okay, Dad," he said. "You just rest." He gently removed his hand, his eyes never leaving his father's face. Plankton's antennae twitched one last time before his eye closed, his breathing evening out. The plushie was clutched tightly to his chest, his hand lying open on the couch cushion. Karen watched him, her love for him so clear. "He's going to be okay," she assured Chip. "The medicine will wear off by tomorrow. Just give him some space and quiet." Chip nodded, his concern still etched in his features. Plankton was usually so sharp, so in control. Seeing him like this was unusual. Karen smiles. "Here," she whispered. "Let's clean his mouth." They gently removed the blood-soaked gauze, replacing it with a fresh one. Plankton's eye flipped open for a second, his antennae quivering. "Wha...?" he murmured, his voice still slurred. Karen smiled, her voice gentle. "It's okay, Plankton. Just a little clean up." Plankton nodded, his eye half-closed again. "Mm-hmm, jush a wiww cweam up." He parrots via echolalia, despite his slurred speech and droopy antennae. "Than' you," he murmured again, his voice tiny. "Wove you." Karen's heart squeezed at his words. "I love you too, sweetie," she said. "Now I'll help you to your bed, so you can sleep off the rest of any anesthesia." Karen supported him to his feet, his legs wobbly. Plankton stumbled slightly, his antennae twitching in confusion. "Bed," he slurred. "Bed." She guided him upstairs, his steps slow and unsteady. "Careful, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "Just a few more." Chip trailed behind them. As they reached the bed room, Karen helped him onto the bed. "Wha...wha's fis?" he mumbled. "It's our room, Plankton," Karen said, her voice gentle. "You need to rest now." Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in his surroundings, his gaze focusing on the familiar sight of his bed. "Oh," he murmured, his speech still slurred. "Bed." Karen helped him lay back, his body slumping into the softness. His stuffed animal was placed carefully beside him, his hand still wrapped around it. "Comfortable?" she asked, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "Mm-hmm," he mumbled. "Go night."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 18 Chip took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "I know that stims can help yo--" "Chip," Plankton interrupts, his antennae stiff. "It's not your place to analyze my behaviors." His voice was firm, but there was a hint of sadness behind it. Curiosity getting the better of him, Chip's hand began to mirror Plankton's movements. He watched his own hand move in tiny circles, feeling the familiarity of it. "It's like how you do it, Dad," he murmured, his eyes wide. Plankton's antennas shot up, his gaze snapping to Chip's hand. "What?" he barked, his voice sharp. Chip's hand stilled, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I just... I wanted to-" Plankton's antennae quivered. "Why are you doing that?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. Chip's eyes never left his hand, his mind racing. "I...I just wanted to understand," he murmured. "It's okay, Dad," he said. "It's just... it's something we can share‽" Karen watched the exchange, her heart in her throat. She knew that Plankton's autism was a complex, personal experience, and she wasn't sure how he'd react to their son's attempt to— But Plankton's eye burned with fury at the thought. It was his, his way to cope, his private struggle, not for others to address or copy. "Don't you DARE!" he shouted. Chip stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and fear. In an instant, Plankton's anger spilled over into action. He threw his pillow across the room, the soft thud echoing through the silent house. Karen flinched, her hand flying to her mouth. Chip had never seen his dad so out of control. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It's okay, it's just-" But Plankton wasn't listening. His body was a whirlwind of emotions, his autism manifesting in a physical display of anger. He swung his arm, knocking knickknacks off the nightstand. Karen rushed over, her heart racing. She knew this was a meltdown, something they had worked hard to avoid, but she also knew that Plankton's boundaries had been crossed and that he's trying to recover from his wisdom teeth. "Plankton, honey," she said soothingly, her hands reaching for his shoulders. "It's okay." Her voice was steady, her eyes filled with calm. Plankton's antennas quivered as he looked at her, his chest heaving with deep, painful breaths. Chip walked up. "Yeah, Dad. It's okay.." But Plankton's antennae shot back, knocking Chip's hand away. "NO!" he shouted, his voice high-pitched. "Don't touch me!" Karen's eyes grew wide with concern as she saw the raw pain and anger in Plankton's face. She knew this was a meltdown, a direct result of the overstimulation and stress from the surgery, Chip's curiosity, and the invasion of his personal space. "Chip, give your dad some room," she instructed calmly. Chip stepped back, his heart pounding. Plankton's antennae whipped around wildly. He clenched his fists, the tension palpable in the air. He didn't understand why his son was mimicking his actions, didn't get why it felt so wrong. "Dad," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to he-" But Plankton's rage was a storm, unyielding. With a snarl, he hit the bed with his hands. Karen's heart pounded as she watched from the sidelines, knowing that any wrong move could escalate the situation. The room grew smaller, his vision blurred. Plankton's mind raced, unable to comprehend why Chip would do such a thing. He felt invaded, his personal space, his way of coping, tainted by his son's curiosity. He clenched his fists, the urge to lash out growing stronger. The pain in his mouth was competing with the agony of feeling misunderstood. With a roar, Plankton pushed the bedside table, sending it crashing to the floor. Karen's eyes widened, her heart racing, but she remained still, knowing any sudden movement could fuel the fire. "Plankton, please," she said, her voice calm but firm. "You're scaring Chip." But her words barely registered with him. He was lost in his own world of pain and misunderstanding. "I'M NOT!" Plankton shouted. "I'M NOT SCARED OF HIM! I'M NOT CHIP'S CHILD!" Plankton bellowed. Chip swallowed hard, his body trembling. He had never seen his father like this, Plankton's breaths coming in heavy gasps. Karen stepped closer, her movements slow and calculated. "Plankton," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "Look at me. Look at me, darling." Plankton's antennae slowed their frantic movements, his eye focusing on her. "You're not Chip's child," she said calmly. "You're my husband, and Chip's father. You're Plankton, and you're autistic. Your stims are a part of autism, but they're not for anyone else to take or mimic. It's okay to be upset. But you need to breathe." Plankton's antennae stilled slightly at her words, his eye focusing on her face. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort. He knew Karen understood, that she had always been his anchor. Chip watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He wished he could take it all back, make it right again. He had only wanted to connect with his dad, to show that he cared, but instead, he had hurt him. Plankton took another deep breath, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen's cleaned up the mess. "I'm sorry, Karen," he murmured, his voice low. "It's just...it's just that...I don't...I don't like it when people do that." Karen's eyes were filled with understanding. "I know, sweetie," she said. "And we're sorry for making you feel that way." She looked at Chip, her gaze firm. "Chip, you need to respect your dad's boundaries. Just because you see something and think it's ok to copy doesn't mean it is." Chip's face fell, his eyes welling up with tears. "But I just wanted to help," he murmured. Karen's gaze softened. "I know you did, Chip," she said gently. "But sometimes, helping means knowing when to step back or let someone else handle things." She turned to Plankton, her voice still firm but filled with love. "And you, Plankton, you need to tell us when you're feeling overwhelmed." Plankton's antennae drooped, his expression one of regret. "I'll try," he murmured.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 19 The room grew quiet, the tension slowly dissipating. Karen moved to sit beside Plankton on the bed, her arm wrapped around him. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip whispered, his voice shaky. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, knowing he had unintentionally hurt his dad. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze focusing on the floor. He didn't respond to Chip, but his antenna twitched at the apology. After a moment of silence, Plankton's voice grew softer, his words barely above a whisper. "Why do I do this?" he murmured to himself, self-soothing, his voice echoing his thoughts. "It's just...it's just me, being me." Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened, her eyes filled with understanding. She knew his autism made certain situations unbearable, and that his stims were his way of navigating the overwhelming world around him. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "You're okay." Chip watched, his eyes brimming with tears. He had witnessed his dad's pain, the flailing antennae and clenched fists, and felt a pang of regret. He had crossed a line without knowing it was there. Plankton's hand began to move again, the repetitive motion of his stim. It was a gentle rocking now, back and forth. His antennae had stilled, his gaze firmly on the floor. The room was thick with emotion, the air charged with the unspoken. Karen watched him, her heart aching. She knew that stimming was his way to self-soothe, to find calm in a world that often didn't make sense. She reached for his hand, her touch light and reassuring. "You're okay, Plankton," she murmured. "We're here for you." Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He had never seen him so upset, so lost. He took a step closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make yo-" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye snapping to Chip's face. "Don't," he murmured. "Just don't." His voice was tight, his body still tense. Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He knew his dad needed space, but his heart was heavy with the desire to bridge the gap between them. He took a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay." Karen looked at Chip, her face a mix of sadness and understanding. She knew that his intentions were pure, but his actions had unintentionally caused pain. "Chip," she began, "let's go to the kitchen and see what soft foods we have." Her voice was gentle, a clear sign that she wanted to give Plankton some space. Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he watched them leave, the door closing softly behind them. In the kitchen, Chip hovered nearby, his hands fidgeting. "Mom," he began, his voice tentative. "I didn't mean to...to make him upset." Karen's eyes meet Chip's. "I know you didn't, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle. "But your dad's autism can make things complicated." "It's just...I wanted to connect," Chip murmured. "I thought if I did what he does, he'd see that I get it." Karen's eyes searched his face, understanding etched deep in her gaze. "Chip," she said, her voice soft. "You can't experience the world the way your father does. His stims are his language, his way to deal with overstimulation. They're not for us to imitate." Chip nodded, his throat tight. "But I just want to make him feel better," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Karen sighed, her eyes meeting her son's. "I know you do," she said. "But you have to respect his boundaries, his way of dealing with things. It's not about you connecting or not connecting; it's about supporting him in the way he needs it." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "Why don't you ask him how you can help?" Chip nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. He knew his mom was right, but it was so hard to see his dad in pain and not do anything. But he also knew that Plankton wasn't just his dad; he was an autistic individual with his own unique experiences and needs. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come. He returned to the bedroom, his eyes on the floor. "Dad?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Can we talk?" Plankton's hand stopped stimming, his eye looking up at Chip. "What about?" he asked, his voice guarded. Chip took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm sorry for mimicking your stim," he said, his voice quiet. "I didn't think how it made you feel, and I see now that it wa-" "Why'd you do it?" Plankton interrupted, his antennae stiff with tension. "What's so fascinating about it?" Chip swallowed, his hands shaking slightly. "I just...I wanted to help you," he managed to get out. "To know what it feels like for you, to share in-" "It's not for sharing!" Plankton's antennae shot up. "It's for ME!" The words echoed through the room, his voice tight. He turned onto his side facing away from Chip. But Chip didn't stop there. He approached the bed, his steps cautious, eyes on Plankton's tense back. Chip's hand hovered over his father's shoulder before he thought better of it. "Dad?" he said, his voice tentative. Plankton's body remained rigid his eye glazed over now. Chip's gaze landed on his father's unblinking eye. A sudden realization hit him like a wave. "Oh no," he murmured, his hand flying to his mouth. "It's a seizure, isn't it?" This was the first time he'd recognized one without being told, where Plankton just zones out for a bit. But now what? Plankton didn't respond, his body completely still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Chip's heart raced as he recalled his mom saying to tell her whenever he sees something like this. He bolted out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he called for his mom. "Mom! Mom, come quick!" His voice was laced with fear. Karen rushed in, her eyes wide with concern. She took one look at Plankton, his body unnaturally still, his eye unblinking, and she knew. "It's okay, Chip," she said, her voice calm despite the panic rising within her. "It's just a seizure. He'll be okay." Chip's eyes searched hers, desperate for reassurance. "But what do we do?" he asked, his voice shaking. Karen's hand found his, squeezing gently. "We wait," she murmured. "We stay with him, and we wait."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 21 Chip took a step back, his eyes still on the floor. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, a mixture of sadness and determination. He knew he had made a mistake, but he was also aware that this could be a chance for him to learn and show his dad that he truly cared. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Why don't you tell us what you need right now?" she asked softly. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "I need...I need to be al-" "Alone?" Chip filled in, his voice gentle. "But Dad, we want to be here for you. I won't le-" Plankton's antennae whipped around, his eye narrowing. "Oh, I know," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Because you're just so good at understanding, right?" His tone was biting, a sharp contrast to the usual softness in his voice. Chip flinched at the harshness, his own feelings of inadequacy rising to the surface. "Dad, I'm tr-" But Plankton continued, his words coming out in a rush. "You think you know, but you don't. You don't know what it's like to have the world crash down on you every minute of every day, to be bombarded with sounds and smells that are too much, too intense." His antennae twitched erratically. "And then you come in with your 'let's talk about it' and 'let me see' and 'let me do it with you' and you think that's going to fix me?" The sarcasm in his voice was palpable, his antennae drooping with frustration. "You think I want to be a science project for you to study?" Plankton's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'm not broken, Chip. I'm just different. And any stims, they're not for you to copy or understand or even acknowledge. They're mine, SOLELY mine!" Karen watched the exchange unfold, her heart aching for both her husband and son. Plankton was hurting, and his defensiveness was a clear sign of it. She knew his stims were a private, sacred part of who he was, and she saw Chip's desire to bridge the gap. But she knew when Plankton was like this, that it was time to let him be. "Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" she suggested gently. "Let your dad have some space." Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He couldn't bear to see his dad in pain, but he knew that pushing would only make things worse. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked out of the room, his feet feeling like lead. Karen watched him go, her gaze then shifting back to Plankton. Plankton's antennae still twitched. Karen moved closer to him. "It's ok, sweetie," she murmured. "I'm here." He leaned into her touch, his body slowly relaxing. Her words were a balm, soothing his raw nerves. A week after Plankton's completely healed from wisdom teeth, he no longer having mouth discomfort. One evening Karen hangs up her phone from her friend Hanna. She lives far away, and they'll take a trip to stay and visit with her. Neither Plankton nor Chip met Hanna before. Hanna knows Karen's married to Plankton, but she doesn't know about his autism. Karen breaks the news gently. "Boys," she says, "We're visiting Hanna tomorrow. It's gonna be a day long drive and we need to pack. We'll be staying at her place!" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the room as he processes this sudden change of plans. The thought of traveling, of new smells and sounds, sends a shiver of anxiety through his body. "Now?" he asks, his voice tight. "But we...I need to prepare." Karen nods, her voice soothing. "We'll leave early, so we have time to get everything ready." She moves closer to him, her hand on his shoulder. "We'll pack together." Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae twitching with the effort to calm down. "Okay," he says. "Okay." He starts to pack, his movements methodical. Everything has its place, his suitcase organized with precision. Karen and Chip watch, knowing better than to interrupt. They've learned that when Plankton's in this mode, it's best to let him be. Karen also gets the special sensory bag for Plankton. His fidget toys and noise-canceling blindfold curtains are carefully placed in the bag. Chip decides to pack some favorite science books as Karen observes them, her heart swelling with pride and hope. Chip's come so far in understanding of Plankton's needs, not to mention their shared love for scientific trivia. Plankton, noticing Chip's packing, approaches with more books for their trip. "Here," he says, his voice slightly less tense. The next morning, Karen gets up early. They'll spend most of the day on the road and wanted to get a good head start. So she wakes Chip up first. "Chip," she whispers, shaking him gently. "Time to get going for our trip." Chip opens his eyes, sleepy but excited. He jumps out of bed, eager to start the day. Plankton, on the other hand, is still asleep. Karen approaches his side, her gaze soft. She knows waking him up can be tough, especially with his sensory issues. Gently, she places her hand on his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispers, keeping her voice low and even. "Wake up, sweetie. We're leaving for Hanna's soon." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly at the touch, his eye fluttering open. "We're leaving soon," Karen repeats. He nods, his body still stiff with sleep. She moves to the side, giving him space to sit up. Karen's going to drive and has Plankton's sensory bag in the front seat by her, so Plankton sits with Chip in the back.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 22 As they start the car and the engine rumbles to life, Plankton's hand starts to move in a repetitive motion, his thumb and forefinger tapping against each other. It's a stim. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, and she gives a small nod. "Remember, buddy," she says over her shoulder. "Just let him be." Chip nods, his eyes going back to his dad. Plankton's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery. Chip watches, his curiosity piqued but his respect for boundaries keen. He's learned so much about his dad's autism in the past weeks, but he knows there's still so much more to understand. The car's hum is a comforting white noise, and Chip can see the tension slowly draining from his father's body. Plankton's eye darts to the side, watching the trees blur by. Chip follows his gaze, seeing the world. "Dad," he says softly. "Can we see the science book together?" He holds it up, the one his dad had packed. Plankton's stimming pauses. He considers it, his antennae twitching. "Okay," he finally says, his voice a little softer. They spend time in quiet companionship, their heads bent over the pages, silently reading facts. Chip feels a warmth in his chest, a feeling of connection growing stronger with each page turned. The car's steady motion combined with the gentle hum of the engine begins to lull Plankton into a drowsy state. His antennae droop slightly, his eye blinking slower, and his breathing deepens. Karen glances in the rearview mirror, a smile touching her lips. She knows this look well. Plankton's autism often made him sensitive to the world, but now, with the familiar routine of the road trip and the soothing environment they've created, his body was finally letting go of the tension as Plankton's eye begins to drift shut. Chip felt his dad's weight shifting against him, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. The steady rhythm of the car's motion was a gentle lullaby to Plankton's overstimulated brain. His hand, which had been tapping out a steady rhythm, stilled. His antennae drooped low, his eye fluttering closed. Chip watched him, his heart swelling with a mix of love and sadness. It was rare to see Plankton so relaxed, his usual stoic exterior giving way to vulnerability. Karen kept her eyes on the road, a soft smile playing on her lips. She knew this was a victory, a sign that their efforts to create a safe space for Plankton were working. The trip was going better than she had dared hope. Chip felt a gentle pressure against his arm as Plankton's head grew heavier. He adjusted his position, careful not to disturb his dad. The book lay forgotten between them, their silent bond stronger than words. He watched as his dad's breathing grew deep and even, his antennae finally still. Karen glanced back again, her smile growing wider. "Looks like we've got a snoozing scientist," she whispered, hearing Plankton's gentle snores. Chip grinned, his own worries slipping away as he felt his dad's body relax against him. The road ahead was long, but the car was filled with a newfound peace. Plankton's snores grew softer as the miles ticked by. When they finally pulled up to Hanna's house, Plankton remained asleep, his body relaxed against Chip's side. Karen turned to look at them, her heart full. "Looks like he had a good nap," she murmured to Chip. Chip nodded, smiling down at his dad. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'm gonna miss this when we get out of the car. How are we gonna tell him we're here?" Karen chuckled softly. "We'll just have to wake him up gently, buddy." She opened her door, the crunch of gravel underfoot. The cool evening air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the car, and Plankton's antenna twitched as his eyebrow furrowed. "Hey, Plankton," Karen said softly, gently shaking him as she closes her car door. "We're here, sweetie." Plankton's eye snapped open, his antennae springing to life. For a moment, confusion clouded his gaze before it cleared, and he sat up with a jolt. "Oh," he murmured, looking around. "Hanna's?" Chip nodded, his smile gentle. "Yeah. We're here." Plankton realized he'd fallen asleep not only in front of Chip, but also leaning on him. Embarrassment flitted across his face, and he quickly sat up as he pulled away. Karen got their suitcases and Plankton's sensory bag in her grasp. The front door opened, and Hanna's bubbly figure emerged, lighting up at the sight of Karen. "Karen!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to give her a warm hug. "It's been so long! And is this your family?" Hanna asks as she let them in, closing the front door behind. Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sight of a different house, the sound of Hanna's excited voice, it was all to much. Karen nods. "Yes, my husband, Plankton, and our son, Chip." Hanna's smile broadens as she embraces Plankton in a tight hug. "So nice to finally meet you," she says, her eyes shining with excitement. Plankton's antennae flatten against his head, the sudden contact overwhelming. He swallows hard, his body stiffening. "Nice t-to meet y-you t—too," he mumbles, his eye darting to Karen for rescue. Karen laughs lightly, gently extricating Plankton from Hanna's enthusiastic embrace. "Why don't we get settled?" she suggests, guiding Plankton to the couch. "And you're quite the young man!" Hanna exclaims to Chip. "Hi Ms. Hanna," Chip says.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 24 "Coko, coo," Plankton murmurs, his eye unfocused, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen squeezes his hand tighter, trying to ground him. "Remember, we're at Hanna's." Chip's eyes widen, hearing his dad's strange speech. "What's coko?" he whispers to his mom. Karen smiles softly. "It's okay, Chip. Sometimes during a seizure, his speech gets...scrambled." Plankton's hand reaches out, searching for something to anchor him. "Go," he says. "The...the... the...what's called?" He's trying to find the words. "The...cow," he says decidedly. "Cow?" Plankton giggles, repeating himself. "Cow!" "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says gently. "You're just trying to find your words." Chip watches, his eyes filled with confusion. "But why is he talking like that?" he asks, his voice low. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she explains. "It's part of the seizure, Chip. His brain is firing differently, mixing things up." Plankton's giggle turns into a full laugh, his body shaking slightly. "Cow," he repeats, his voice louder now. Karen and Chip exchange a concerned look, but Karen smiles gently, knowing this phase can pass quickly. "Remember, Plankton, we're at Hanna's. You're okay." Plankton nods, his laugh fading into a smile as his gaze locks onto the spinning ceiling fan. "Fan," he murmurs, his hand moving to mimic its motion. "Fan-ny fanny fan." Karen knows he's trying to make sense of the world again, and she's here to help guide him back. "That's right," she says, keeping her voice steady. "It's a fan." Chip watches, his curiosity piqued but his concern foremost. He's knew not to laugh at his dad's strange speech, but it's hard not to find some humor in the absurdity of the moment. "Fan-ny," Plankton repeats, his voice taking on a sing-song quality. "The cow, says meow." Karen chuckles, her heart warming at the nonsensical sentences. It's a sign his brain is trying to reconnect, to make sense of the world again. "No, Plankton," she corrects gently. "The fan doesn't say meow. It's ju—" But she's interrupted by Hanna, who comes in to check on them. "Hey guys! So, what's the plan for movie night?" Her cheerfulness is a stark contrast to the scene she's walked in on. Plankton's laughter grows louder, his eye glazed over. Hanna's smile falters, her eyes wide with worry. "Is he okay?" she asks, stepping closer, confused. Karen knew Plankton's not gonna want Hanna to find out about his autistic neurodisability. "It's just something he does," Karen says quickly, as Plankton starts to crawl. "He'll be fine in a bit." Hanna watches as drool starts to dribble from the corner of Plankton's mouth. "What's happening?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. "It's like he's in a dream state, or someth-" Her words are drowned out by Plankton's chuckle, his body wriggling on the floor. "Cow!" he exclaims. Karen knew he's gonna come out of it soon, and she didn't want Hanna to be in his personal space right now. "Why don't we give a bit more time?" she suggests, her tone remaining calm. "We'll be ready for movies soon." Hanna nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, backing out of the room. The door closes, leaving them in privacy. Karen's heart thuds in her chest. She's seen this a hundred times, but it never gets easier. Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his antennae still. The room seems to come back into focus, the colors slowly solidifying from the blur they had been. "Karen?" he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I'm here," she says, her voice a comforting presence in the room. "You had a seizure, but you're okay now." Plankton's eye widens, his antennae shooting up. "Oh," he murmurs, his voice distant. He looks around the room, taking in the familiar yet foreign surroundings of Hanna's guest room. "What...were we talking? I feel like I was but I...I can't remember." Karen's hand is still clasped in his, her thumb continuing to rub his skin in a soothing pattern. "You were talking about a cow," she says with a small smile. "But it's okay. You're okay." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "A cow?" He repeats, his voice still weak. "Did I... did I say anything else? And why the barnacles am I on the floor?" Karen laughs, her eyes twinkling with affection. "You got a bit overwhelmed," she says, her voice gentle. "But you're okay now." Plankton nods, his antennae slowly rising. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to-" Karen shakes her head, her smile warm. "Don't apologize, Plankton. It's just part of who you are." She helps him to his feet, her arms supporting him. "Let's get you cleaned up." Chip watches, his heart still racing. He's seen his dad like this before, but it never gets easier. He wants to help, but he's learned that sometimes, the best thing to do is just be present. Karen leads Plankton to the bathroom, her arm around his waist, his hand in hers. "Let's get you cleaned up," she says, guiding him gently. The cool water feels good on his face, the sensation helping to ground him. Karen wipes his mouth with a washcloth, her movements careful and precise. He leans into her touch, his body craving the predictability. "Thank you," he murmurs. Karen hands him a towel, her gaze understanding. "You're welcome," she says. "Remember, Plankton, you're not alone in this." Karen leads Plankton and Chip to the living room where Hanna's waiting for them. "Are you okay?" Hanna asks, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching. "Of course," he says matter-of-factly. "Why wouldn't I be?" Hanna's gaze lingers on his still-flushed cheeks, his slightly unfocused eye. "You just...you seemed out of it," she says, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae quiver, his mind racing. "What are you talking about?" He asks Hanna, glaring at her. "You know, when you were laughing and talking about cows," Hanna says, her eyes still wide with concern. "And drooling a bit." Plankton's face reddens, his antennae springing up. Karen jumps in, her voice calm. "It's just a little quirk, Hanna," she says with a smile. "He's fine. Now, about that movie night?" Hanna nods, her expression still slightly puzzled, but she lets it go. "Right! Let's get cozy!" She says, clapping her hands together. Plankton sits back down on the couch, his antennae twitching as he tries to regain his composure. He knows he can't let his condition define him, but sometimes it's so hard to keep up the façade. He's grateful for Karen's quick thinking, for Chip's quiet support. Hanna starts setting up the board games, her energy seemingly boundless. Plankton's eye flits around the room, taking in the colors and the clutter. He can feel his anxiety building, his thoughts racing. But he takes a deep breath. "Do you want to play?" Hanna asks, her smile wide. "Sure," Plankton responds, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. Chip and Karen knew of his competitive spirit.. The game starts, and Plankton's stims return. His fingers move over the armrest. "What's with your hands?" Hanna asks, watching Plankton's hand move. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen jumps in, her tone calm. "It's just something he does." She doesn't elaborate further, not wanting to make a big deal of it. But Hanna's curiosity is piqued. She's never seen anyone act like this before. Plankton's eye darts to his hand, his antennae twitching. He feels the weight of Hanna's gaze, his cheeks flushing. Karen squeezes his hand, her silent support reassuring. Hanna's eyes wander from the game to Plankton's hands, then back to her cards. She's curious. Plankton feels the heat of her gaze, his stims intensifying. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the game. But every time he glances up, her eyes are on him, watching his hands move, her brow furrowed. It's unnerving, but her curiosity doesn't wane. "So, what's the deal with the hand thing?" Hanna asks finally, unable to hold back. Plankton's antennae snap straight up, his hand stalling mid-stim. "What hand thing?" he says, his voice sharp. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, a silent warning. Hanna's eyes widen at his tone. "I just meant, why do you...you know, move your hands like that? What does it do for yo-" "It's none of your concern!" Plankton snaps, his antennae waving agitatedly. Karen's eyes dart between Hanna's shocked expression and Plankton's flushed face. She can feel the tension in the room spike. "Plankton, maybe we should-" But Plankton cuts her off, his voice rising. "I don't have to explain myself to her!" He says, his antennae waving wildly. Chip's heart sinks. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's always different, always worse when it's in front of someone new. Hanna's face falls, her smile replaced with hurt. "I'm just trying to understand," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mea-" But Plankton's not listening. "It's none of your business," he repeats, his voice cold. Karen's heart sinks. She knew this was going to happen, that Plankton's stress would boil over into something unpleasant. "Plankton," she starts, but he shakes his head, his eye focused on the game now. "I don't owe anyone explanations," he says, his hand resuming its erratic movements. Hanna's eyes fill with unshed tears, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's attention is fully on the game, his stims more pronounced than ever. Karen sighs, her heart aching for both Hanna and Plankton. She knows his behavior isn't intentional, but it's still painful to watch.

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 2 But Plankton's expression was not one of relief. His face flushed red with embarrassment as reality crashed in on him. He realized his son had seen him at his most vulnerable, caught in the grip of his condition. He jerked his hand away, the octopus falling to the floor. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. Chip took a step back, his hands up in a placating gesture. "I-I didn't mean to scare you," he stuttered. "I just... came ho-" "Why are you watching me like that?" he snarled. "You have no right to see me like this!" Karen stepped in, her voice steady. "Chip didn't mean to, love. He just came home early and found you in a seizure. It's ok. You know he loves you." Plankton's anger was a storm quickly building. He glared at Chip, his eye wild. "Get out!" he shouted. "This isn't your business!" The words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his cheeks burning. He backed away, clutching the stuffed octopus. "Dad, I just wanted to help," he murmured. But Plankton was beyond reason, fear and embarrassment having turned to anger. "I said get out!" Plankton yelled again, his voice echoing in the small room. Chip's lip trembled, but he didn't dare disobey. He turned and fled, his feet pounding on the hallway floor, leaving his parents behind. Once in the safety of his room, Chip slammed the door shut and sank to the floor, his back pressed against it. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he held the octopus to his chest. It felt strange, his dad's reaction with such fury directed at him. Karen turned to Plankton, knowing the storm of emotion her son had just felt. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispered, her eyes filled with concern. "You're okay. Chip's okay. It was just a surprise for everyone." Plankton took a deep, shaky breath, his mind racing. He knew he had overreacted, but the fear of being exposed had taken hold. He had always been so careful, so private about his condition. Now, Chip knew his secret. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Karen sat beside him, her hands resting lightly on his arm. "You don't have to apologize," she said, her voice calm. "But you do need to talk to him. He's scared and confused." Plankton nodded, his gaze flickering to the floor. He knew she was right. He had always been so careful about his neurodivergence, meticulous about not letting others see. But Chip had seen him, and now there was no going back. He took a deep breath and turned to Karen. "You're right," he said firmly. "I need to talk to him." He knew the conversation would be hard, but he owed it to Chip. His heart heavy, he walked to the door. When he entered Chip's room, the air was thick with silence. Chip sat on his bed, his back to the door, clutching the octopus tightly. Plankton's heart clenched at the sight of his son's hunched figure. He knew the hurt he had caused. "Chip," he began, his voice raspy. "I'm s-sorry." He took another step forward, but his son didn't move. "I didn't mean to scare you, or to shout. It's just..." His words trailed off. How could he explain the fear and vulnerability that had consumed him? "I know you didn't mean to intrude," he said, his voice softer now. "But seeing me like that...it's not something I wa-" "You're quirky," Chip cut in, not turning around. "And now I know why." Plankton swallowed hard, his heart racing. He had never talked to Chip about his neurodisability before, not in such direct terms. "Yes," he admitted. "But I'm still yo-" "I know," Chip nods. "But why didn't you tell me you were like this? Why didn't mom ever just tell me you're...?" Then a slur slipped out before he could stop it, a term he'd heard used before, but never really understood the weight of. Plankton's breath hitched, and his eye grew wide. The room was suddenly colder, as if his heart had frozen. Without another word, he stood abruptly, leaving Chip's room. He went in his room after slamming the door shut. Karen looked up. "So Plankton, ho-" But Karen cut her own question short upon the sight of her husband's face. "Plankton, whaa-" Plankton's features were twisted in anger, a rage that seemed to pulse with each beat of his heart. "How could you say that?" he spat out, his eye flashing. "How could you both think that about me?" His voice was low, dangerously so, each word a blow that echoed in the quiet space. Karen, of course, didn't know what's been said. "What are you talking about, love?" But Plankton couldn't articulate the hurt that had just been unleashed. Karen, sensing the shift in the room, stepped closer, her hand reaching out. "Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. But Plankton flinched, his body retreating from her touch. "It's nothing," he muttered, his voice strained. He couldn't bear to repeat Chip's hurtful slur. So he turned away from Karen, his back to her, his shoulders rigid. The silence grew thick between them, a barrier she wasn't sure she could breach. "Plankton?" she asked again, her voice concerned. "What's go—" "I can't," he choked out, his eye stinging. "I can't tell you." His voice was barely a whisper, the words forced through a throat constricted by pain and shame. Karen's eyes search his face, her heart aching at his distress. "Is it about your condition?" she ventured gently. Plankton nodded, his back still to her. "Chip... thinks I'm...less than," his voice cracked. Karen inched closer. "Oh that's not tr-" But Plankton whirled on her, cutting her off. "Don't make excuses for him!" he shouted, his voice shaking with emotion. Karen took a step back, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm not making excuses," she said carefully. "I just want to know what hap–" But Plankton was beyond hearing her. His mind was a tumult of emotions: anger, hurt, and fear. He had worked so hard to keep his condition a secret, to shield himself from the cruelty of the world. And now, his own son had labeled him with a term so loaded with stigma and pain. "It's not right," he murmured, his fists clenching at his sides. "It's not right that he thinks that way. It's not right that anyone thinks that way!" Karen watched him, her eyes full of sadness. "Plankton, sweetie, come sit with me," she said softly, patting the space beside her.

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 3 With a heavy sigh, Plankton collapsed onto the bed, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving. Karen wrapped her arms around his shaking frame, holding him tightly. "You're not less than," she whispers. "What could Chip have possibly said to make you feel like that?" But Plankton remained silent, a painful reminder of the times he'd been taunted and misunderstood by those who didn't know him. He felt Karen's gentle touch on his shoulder, a silent offer of comfort that only made his throat tighten more. "It's okay," she said softly. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, we'll work through it." But Plankton was too lost in his own pain to share the specifics with her. The word hung in the air between them, a heavy weight that seemed to press down on his chest. He couldn't bring himself to repeat it, to give voice to the hurt that had been thrown at him. It was a reminder of all the times his differences had made him feel less than, all the times he'd been the but of jokes or the subject of whispers. Karen's eyes searched his, desperate to understand the pain she saw etched into his features. But Plankton couldn't find the words. He just sat there, his body shaking with the force of his unspoken grief. The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Finally, with a tremble in his voice, he spoke. "He said a word," he managed to get out. "A word that hurts more than you know." Karen's heart squeezed tightly in her chest. "What word?" she asked softly, afraid of what she might hear. "Just, don't defend him!" he roared. "Don't you dare defend him! I know you're just gonna say how he's a kid or doesn't know better, or that he didn't mean it; but that word cuts deeper than you could ever understand!" Plankton's fists clenched tightly, his knuckles white with the effort of not lashing out. Karen's eyes were filled with tears, her heart breaking at the raw emotion spilling from her husband. "What word?" she whispered, dread coiling in her stomach. He took a deep breath, his voice strained as he forced the word out. "Ret-" He choked, unable to complete it. He shook his head. "That word," he finally managed, his voice barely above a murmur. Karen's eyes widened in horror, understanding dawning on her. "Oh, no; Plankton," she breathed. "No." She pulled him closer, her own tears flowing freely now. "You're not that," she assured him fiercely. "You're brilliant, and kind, and the best father Chip co—" "Don't," Plankton whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't say it's okay. It's not." Karen's heart broke further. "I'm s-sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I-I'm sorry he said that. We need to talk to him," she said firmly. "He needs to underst--" But Plankton cut her off with a harsh shake of his head. "No," he whispered, his voice weak. "He doesn't get to see me like this. He doesn't get to hav—" "But he's our son," Karen interrupted gently. "And he loves you. He needs to know to never use that word again." Plankton's shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew she was right. He had to talk to Chip. He had to explain the hurt that the word caused. But the thought of facing his son, of explaining his fears and vulnerabilities, was almost too much to bear. "I can't do it," he whispered. "I just can't. He won't listen to me." Karen nodded, understanding his pain. "Then I'll go," she said, determined. "I'll talk to him, make him understand." With a heavy heart, she stood and walked to Chip's closed door. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. When she opened the door, she found Chip sitting on his bed. Her eyes searched her son's face, looking for signs of understanding or remorse. Instead, she found only a child lost in his own thoughts, the octopus still gripped tightly in his hand. "Chip," she began, her voice shaking with barely contained emotion. "What did you say to your father?" Chip looked up, his eyes innocent. "I just asked why you guys didn't tell me," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze. "But he got so mad.." Karen felt a mix of anger and sadness wash over her. "What exactly did you say to him?" she asked, her voice tight. "I don't know," Chip said, his voice small. "I just said why didn't you guys tell me he's like that. I said he's re---" he murmured, the weight of the slur heavy on his tongue. Karen's face contorted in anger. "How could you say such a thing?" she snapped. "Do you know what that word means? Do you have any idea how much pain it causes?" Chip shrunk under her glare, his eyes darting around the room as he searched for an escape from the intensity of her gaze. "It's just a word," he mumbled defensively. "I don't know why it's such a big de-" "It's not just a word, Chip," Karen said, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, each syllable laced with disappointment. "It's a word that hurts people, that makes them feel less than who they are." She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. "Do you know how much your father has suffered because of people calling him that?" Chip's eyes grew wide, the gravity of his words sinking in. He hadn't meant to hurt his dad, but now he realized the weight of his carelessness. "But I didn't mean it like that," he stuttered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I just didn't know what else to call it." Karen's expression softened slightly, her anger giving way to sadness. "Chip, sweetie, that word is not just some description," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "It's a word that has been used to hurt and belittle people like your dad for a long, long time." She sat beside him, placing a hand on his arm. "You have to understand that words have power. And when you use that power to wound someone, especially someone you love, it causes deep, deep pain."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 3 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen sees the pain in Chip's eyes. She knows they have to explain sooner rather than later. Plankton's condition is a part of their lives, and Chip deserves to know. Yet she also understands her husband's need for privacy. "Plankton," she says calmly, placing a hand on his back. "Chip just wants to help." Plankton's face contorts in frustration, his antennae twitching uncontrollably. Chip, feeling more lost than ever, steps back further. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmurs, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I didn't mean to-" "Chip, it's okay," Karen says, cutting in before Plankton can reply. She gives her husband a knowing look, her screen filled with concern. Oblivious to his dad's autistic spectrum disorder and its effects on his sensory processing, Chip continues to hover anxiously. "But Mom, why won't Dad tell me?" He sniffles, wiping his screen with the back of his hand. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Chip, your dad's brain works a little differently than most. Sometimes, things can be too much for him, and his body needs a break. That's all it was." Chip's eyes are wide, but fear still lingers. "But why couldn't he-" "It's okay, Chip," she interjects, placing a comforting arm around his shoulder. "Daddy's just tired. Why don't you go wash up, and I'll talk to him, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes still fixed on Plankton, who now avoids his gaze. As he walks to the bathroom, his mind whirls with questions and fear. Why won't his dad tell him what's going on? What's so scary about his brain needing a break? While Chip is washing his screen, Plankton turns to Karen, his voice low and shaking. "How could I have let this happen?" he whispers. Karen wraps her arms around his trembling frame. "You couldn't have known, Plankton. It's not your fault. But we do need to talk to him. He's seen it now, and he's scared." Plankton nods, his eye dull with fear. "I know," he whispers. He's never wanted Chip to know about his condition, but now it seems like there's no choice. He's always been so sensitive especially when his brain's in overload. Karen gives him a comforting squeeze. "We'll tell him together," she says, her voice steady. "We'll explain it in a way he can understand." Chip finishes washing his screen and returns to the bedroom, his eyes red and puffy. He sees his mom hugging his dad, and the sight brings a tiny bit of comfort. But he still feels like there's something he's missing, something important. But seeing the hug, Chip goes to do the same... But Plankton flinches at his touch, his antennae quivering with overstimulation. Chip pulls away, his eyes wide with confusion and hurt. "What's wrong, Dad?" he asks, not understanding his dad's reaction. "Don't touch me," Plankton says, his voice cold. Chip's eyes well up with tears again. "But I'm just trying to hug you," he whimpers, feeling lost and alone. Karen intervenes, her voice soft. "Plankton, sweetie, Chip doesn't know. He's just a kid, trying to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. He knows she's right. "Chip," Karen begins, her tone gentle. "You know how sometimes you get overwhelmed, and you just need a hug?" Chip nods. "Well, Daddy gets overwhelmed too, but sometimes, hugs aren't what he needs. Sometimes, his brain needs a different kind of comfort." Chip looks up at her, his screen still wet with tears. "But why can't I hug him?" he asks, his voice small. "You're hugging..." "Chip," Karen says, taking his hand. "Your dad's brain is special. Sometimes, when it gets too much input, he needs some space. He can't help it; it's just ho-" "But why can't I just hug him?" Chip interrupts, his voice desperate. Plankton looks away, his face contorting with the effort to hold back his own tears. "It's not that simple, Chip," he says, his voice cracking. Chip's confusion grows. He can't understand why a simple hug is causing so much pain. "But why?" he asks, his voice trembling. "You always hug Mom.." Plankton sighs, feeling the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "It's not the same," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mom knows how to... to handle it." Chip's eyes fill with tears again. "But why not me?" he asks. "I just wa-" Plankton's voice is harsher than he intends. "Because you don't know how!" he snaps. Chip's face falls, the rejection hitting him like a slap. Karen's eyes dart between them. She understands Plankton's struggle with his sensory issues, but this isn't the time for anger. "Plankton," she says firmly, "Chip just wants to help. He doesn't understand, and we can't blame him for that." She looks at Chip, his screen full of hurt and confusion. "Let's just tell him, okay? Try again Plankton.." Plankton nods reluctantly, his antennae still twitching. "Chip," he starts, his voice softer now. "When I was being born, my brain didn't fully develop the way it should've. So, I'm different, and I don't need you to 'fix' me. HAPPY?" Chip stares at his dad, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. He doesn't understand. "Different, how?" he asks, his voice small. Karen takes over. "Your father has a condition called autism, Chip. It means his brain interprets things differently, especially when it comes to touch." Chip pulls away, his face scrunching up. "But that means you're broken!" he cries out, his voice filled with horror. "You're a monster! An autistic freak!" The words slip out before he can stop them, echoing the taunts of his schoolmates. "It makes you nothing but an embarrassment!" The room goes still, the atmosphere thick with pain. Karen's eyes widen in shock as Plankton's body tenses. "Chip, no!" she gasps, but it's too late. Plankton's face crumples. The words had cut deeper than Chip could've ever imagined. "Get out," Plankton murmurs, his voice barely audible. "I don't want you here." Chip's eyes widen, his screen flushing with guilt. He didn't mean it; he was just repeating what he's heard. "But, Dad," he whimpers, reaching out. But Plankton flinches away, his antennae drooping. "Get out," he repeats, his voice defeated. "I don't need you right now." Chip's eyes fill with hurt as he takes a step back. "But Dad..." he whispers, his hand reaching out instinctively. Plankton doesn't take it. "I said leave," he murmurs, his voice filled with pain. "You get out, Chip. Just go." The finality in his tone sends a shiver down Karen's spine. Chip's hand falls to his side, his eyes brimming with tears. Karen's eyes are glossed with unshed tears as she watches Chip back away, the hurt in his voice etching a painful silence into the room. "Dad, I-" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae quivering with emotion. "I don't want to see you right now, Chip," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just go." The rejection hits Chip like a wave, and he nods, his lip trembling. He turns and runs from the room, his sobs echoing down the hallway. Karen turns to Plankton, her screen filled with sorrow and understanding. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice cracking. "He didn't realize what he said. He doesn't know how such words can hurt you." Plankton turns to her, his eye filled with a sadness so deep it's almost tangible. "But he said it," he murmurs. "He basically called me a freak." Karen's heart breaks at his pain, and she sighs heavily. "He's just a child, Plankton," she says softly. "He doesn't underst--" "I don't care," Plankton interrupts, his voice brittle. "I can't handle it right now." He turns away. Karen nods, giving him the space he needs. She understands the depth of his pain and the struggle his condition brings him.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 1 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip was adopted at birth by Plankton and Karen, who raised him. But Plankton's autistic, which he only shared with Karen. He managed to 'mask' or hide some of his neurodivergence from Chip, who's got no idea his dad's neurodisabled. Chip walks in the door to his parent's room is slightly ajar. He peeks in, expecting to find his mom tidying up or his dad fiddling with one of his inventions. Instead, he sees his dad sitting still on the edge of his bed, his eye glazed over, his body stiff. "Dad?" But Plankton doesn't move, nor does he acknowledge his son's presence. Chip takes a step closer. He tries to shake him, but Plankton is like a doll, unresponsive. "Dad, are you ok?" Chip's voice cracks, fear starting to creep in. The room feels eerily silent, sans the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Chip tries to recall if he's ever seen his dad like this. It dawns on him that he might be hurt. "Dad?" he whispers again, his voice trembling. The only response is the persistent tick-tock of the clock, echoing in the silence. Chip's mind races, trying to make sense of the unexpected scene before him. Plankton's absence seizure had always been a closely guarded secret, shared only with Karen. But now, Chip's the one who's stumbled upon it, and he doesn't know what it is, nor what to do. He reaches out to touch his father's shoulder, his hand shaking, but Plankton doesn't flinch, despite his discomfort. His eye is open, yet unseeing. The realization hits Chip like a ton of bricks. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. "Mom, you need to come to your bedroom. Something's happened to Dad!" Karen rushes in, a look of concern etched on her screen as she takes in the scene. She quickly assesses Plankton and knew exactly what was going on. She knows Chip has never noticed Plankton's autistic traits. They kept the autism a secret from Chip as per Plankton's request. "It's ok, sweetie," she says calmly, placing a gentle hand on Chip's shoulder. "Your dad's just having a little... episode." Her voice is soft, but firm, trying to ease his panic without causing alarm. She's seen this hundreds of times. And she knew Chip doesn't have the faintest idea of his dad having a condition. "What do you mean?" Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his hands still hovering over his father's unresponsive body. He's never seen his dad so lifeless before. "It's like he's not even there," he whispers. Karen takes a deep breath and sighs. "Your dad doesn't know it's happening, but he'll be fine soon." Chip's eyes dart around the room, his gaze returning to Plankton. "But why?" he asks, voice shaking. "What's going on?" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of sorrow and determination as she explains, "Your dad's brain does things differently from other people's, and this is one of those times." Chip's confusion deepens. "But wh-" "Remember how sometimes you get really focused on a video game and can't hear me right away?" Chip nods. "Well, this is like that, but his body goes still and he's not really aware of what's around him.." Chip watches as Karen carefully helps Plankton to lie down, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket. Plankton's eye remains open, but it's not looking at anything specific, just glazed over. Chip's fear turns to curiosity, questions racing through his mind. He's seen his dad in his 'work mode' before, where he's so focused on his inventions that it's like he's in another world. But this seems different. This is scary. Karen sighs. "We'll talk later, ok?" Chip nods, yet his curiosity overpowers his fear. He watches as Karen sits by Plankton's side. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers, stroking his antennae. "You're safe here; I'm here." Karen's screen never left Plankton's face, her gaze filled with love and understanding. She knows his silent battles, his secret world of challenges. "Plankton, it's me, Karen," she says gently. "You're safe. I'm right here." She speaks softly. Chip, still hovering, can't help but notice the tenderness in her touch as Plankton's body remains still, his eye unblinking. Suddenly, Plankton speaks. "Must...the...yes." Plankton mumbles in a tone that's distant. The words make no sense to Chip, but Karen nods as if she understands. "It's ok Plankton," she soothes. "You're right here with me." The sight of his dad talking to himself sends a shiver down Chip's spine. He's seen Plankton mumble things before, lost in his thoughts, but this is different. It's as if he's in a trance, his eye seeing something only he can perceive. Chip feels his own anxiety spike, wondering what could be going through his dad's mind in this state. "Dad?" "Let him be," Karen says softly. "Sometimes he talks like that when he's coming out of it. It's part of his... process." Plankton continues. "The... ...has to be..." His words are fragmented, his voice trailing off as if his thoughts are racing faster than his mouth can keep up. "What...what is he saying?" Chip asks Karen. Karen's eyes stay locked on Plankton, her expression both concerned and calm. "He's not really talking to anyone," she explains. "It's just something that can happen during these episodes." Plankton's mumbling turns into a murmur. "The... the... it's all..." Karen leans in closer, her voice soothing, "It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay. Just let it happen." Karen knows from experience that the words are not for them, but rather a cerebral dance he has no control over. Chip, on the other hand, is utterly bewildered. The room seems to shrink around them, the air thick with unspoken questions and a palpable tension. Karen's hand never leaves Plankton's antenna, her thumb brushing it gently. "You're safe, Plankton," she repeats, her voice a lullaby. "You're here with me." "The... the... it's..." Plankton says. Chip can't help but lean closer, his hand reaching. Karen's hand shoots out to stop him. "Chip, no!" she says firmly. "Don't. It could make it worse." Her eyes are filled with a knowledge that Chip lacks, a fear that he's only just beginning to understand. Karen sighs. "It's just his brain... recalibrating." The silence stretches out, stifling. Chip watches his father, his mind racing. He's seen his dad's inventions come to life, but this... this is a mystery he can't solve. Plankton's antenna starts to twitch slightly, the first sign of movement since the episode began. "It's over, love," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye blinks, once, twice, and then focuses on Karen. Recognition slowly dawns on his face, confused. "Whaa-" "You had a moment, Plankton," she says gently. "It's okay." Plankton looks around, spotting Chip. "Chip? K-Karen, what's going on?" His voice cracks with confusion. "What's wrong? Did I...?" Chip feels a surge of relief seeing his dad's eye blink and his dad's voice return to normal. But the question in his dad's voice tells him that Plankton doesn't remember.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 16 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Chip pulls a bench stool up by the couch. "Dad," he says, his voice a whisper in the quiet room. "Can I... I ask you a question?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye half-open. "Sure, what is it?" Chip's voice is a soft whisper in the darkened living room. "What's it like?" he asks, his curiosity tangled with fear. "To be... you know, autistic?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking slowly. "It's... it's like living in a world that's too loud," he murmurs. "And too bright. And sometimes, things don't make sense. But... it's also beautiful. Like a puzzle that only I can solve." Chip leans in, his curiosity piqued. "How do you mean?" he asks, his voice a gentle prodding. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye closing briefly. "Imagine a symphony playing," he whispers, his voice a soft melody. "But instead of music, it's sounds. Voices, lights, textures... all playing at once. It's... overwhelming." He pauses, his antennae twitching with the effort to explain. "But sometimes, when everything is still... I see patterns. It's like... like the universe is whispering secrets only I can discern." Chip nods, his eyes on the twitching antennae. "And the absence seizures?" Plankton's eye opens wider, his voice a soft sigh. "It's like being in a bubble," he says, his antennae stilling. "A moment out of time, but... it's not real. I'm not really here." Chip's gaze is intense, his mind racing to understand. "But what do you see?" he asks, his voice eager. "When you're in that bubble?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching Chip's face. "It's... difficult to explain," he says, his voice a soft rumble. "It's like... I'm distant." His antennae bob slightly, his eye fluttering. "But sometimes, it's just... like a blender. And I'm alone." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try to imagine," he whispers. "But I want you to know, Dad, I'm here for you." His hand reaches out to touch Plankton. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tensing slightly. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a quiet acceptance. "It's not your fault." Chip's hand hovers, unsure. "But I wish I could help more," he says, his voice filled with a longing to ease his father's pain. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking open. "You do help," he whispers, his voice a reassurance. "Just by being here. Yet you can't fix me, Chip." Chip's hand retreats, his heart heavy with understanding. "I know," he says, his voice filled with sadness. "But I want to make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on Chip's earnest face. "I know," he whispers. "But you can't always save me. And right now I'm just feeling tired.." Chip nods, his hand slowly withdrawing. "Okay, Dad," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll rest now. We'll talk more tomorrow." Plankton's eye closes, his antennae stilling. His breaths even out, his body relaxing into sleep's gentle embrace. The room falls silent, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Chip watches his dad, who's asleep now. His mind is racing with thoughts, but his body is still, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace. His eyes trail over Plankton's form, noticing the way his antennae twitch slightly in his sleep. It's like he's dreaming of faraway places, or perhaps solving a complex puzzle only he can see. Chip's hand hovers over his dad's, fighting the urge to hold it. He's seen the way Plankton flinches at the slightest touch, the way his body shies away from contact. But his heart aches to offer comfort, to let him know he's not alone. With a deep breath, he decides to be brave. His fingertips lightly graze Plankton's hand, the barest of touches. Plankton's antennae twitch, his breath catching, but he doesn't pull away. Encouraged, Chip wraps his hand around his dad's, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of his palm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his snores deepening. Chip's heart swells with relief. Maybe this is okay.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 20 Karen had seen this before, but it never failed to fill her with a deep ache. She sat beside Plankton, her hand on his back, her gaze on his unblinking eye. She had learned to recognize the signs, the subtle cues that signaled his retreat into himself. This was a common occurrence. But it never got easier. Chip hovered nearby, his body tense with worry. He had never seen his dad like this before, not really. The way his body went stiff, his antennae quivered, and his eye glazed over. It was like watching someone slip away. "How long does it last?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen's grip on his hand tightened. "It varies," she said. "Just try talking to him. It helps to keep him anchored." Chip's throat felt dry, his voice trembling as he leaned closer to Plankton. "Dad?" he whispered, his heart racing. Plankton's body remained eerily still, his eye unblinking. Chip's mind raced with thoughts, trying to think of anything to say that might bring him back. "You know, Dad, I've been thinking," he began, his voice shaky. "I know you don't like it when I talk about your stims, but I just...I just want you to know that I think they're cool. They're part of what makes you, you. And I promise, I won't mimic them again. It's not my place to understand without asking you first." Karen watched with a heavy heart as Chip spoke. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the tension in his body not fully receding. "I just want to help," Chip continued, his voice cracking. "I want to be there for you the way you're always there for me." As the words hung in the air, Plankton's eye slowly blinked. The seizure was passing, the world reassembling before him. He turned up to look at Chip, his expression confused. "What's going on?" he mumbled. Karen felt relief flood through her as she realized the seizure had passed. "Chip," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "That was a beautiful thing you just did." Plankton's antennae twitched at that, his eye coming back to focus. He looked at them, his gaze confused. "What happened?" Chip took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, Dad," he said. "And that I'll respect your space and your stims. They're a part of you, and I won't invade that again." Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. Karen watched, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. This was a pivotal moment, a chance for understanding and growth within their family. "That's right, Chip," she said softly. "It's about respect and love." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze moving between Chip and Karen. He didn't know how to process the emotions swirling within him. He was used to being the rock, the one who provided comfort and support, not the one receiving it from Chip! Yet he heard the sincerity in his son's voice. "I...I see that," Plankton managed. Chip's eyes searched his father's face, looking for any sign of forgiveness. "Dad, I didn't know," he whispered. "I just wanted to be close to you." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his mind racing. He had never talked about his autism with Chip like this, had never explained the intricacies of his stims and seizures. It was a vulnerable place to be. "Chip, it's not for you to understand by doing." He paused, his antennae drooping. "It's just... I dunno." Karen watched the two, her heart aching. She knew this was hard for Plankton, to explain the unexplainable. "What your dad means," she said gently, "is that his stims are personal. They're his way to handle things. It's like when you have a bad day and you need to be alone. We all have our ways of dealing, right?" Chip nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. He could see the turmoil in his dad's gaze, the desire to be understood battling with the fear of being misunderstood. "Yeah," he murmured. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae stilling. "You're my son," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want you to understand." He looked away, his antennae drooping. "But it's hard." Chip nodded, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him. "I know it is," he said, his voice gentle. "But we're here to learn with you." Karen's eyes glistened with pride. Her son was growing up, understanding that empathy wasn't about fixing, but about being present and respectful. "Let's talk," she suggested, sitting beside Chip on the bed. "Let's talk about your stims, Plankton. Maybe if Chip knows more, he ca---" But Plankton cut her off, his antennae twitching with agitation. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, his voice tight. "It's personal." The room was suffocatingly silent, the tension palpable. Karen and Chip exchanged glances, both unsure of how to navigate this delicate moment. Chip's heart pounded as he tried to find the right words. He didn't want to push his dad, but he desperately wanted to connect, to show that he cared. He took a deep breath, his hand hovering over Plankton's arm before stopping mid-air. "Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "Can you teach me about your st-" "NO!" Plankton's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. His antennae whipped around, his body tense with emotion. "It's not a show, Chip. It's not for you to see and learn." Chip's hand fell to his side, his eyes wide with surprise. He had never seen his dad so agitated. But he knew he had to tread carefully, to respect his boundaries. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured. "I just wanted to kno—" "I know what you want," Plankton said. "They're not for you to analyze or learn from like a trick." Chip felt the sting of his dad's words, but he knew he had to back off. He took a step back, his eyes firmly on the floor. "Okay, Dad," he murmured. "I get it." Karen watched the exchange, her heart heavy. She knew Plankton's frustration all too well. It was hard for him to articulate his needs, especially when his stims were so deeply personal. "Plankton," she said softly. "Chip wants to support you, not to make you feel uncomfortable." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on his wife's face. He knew she was right, that Chip's curiosity was born from love, not a desire to control or change his behavior. "I know," he murmured. "But it's just...it's just that..." He struggled to find the right words to explain the swirl of emotions inside him. His stims were his lifeline, a way to cope with the sensory overload that often left him exhausted and overwhelmed. "I just need space," he finally managed. Karen's gaze was filled with empathy as she nodded. "Okay, Plankton," she said gently. "We'll give you space. But know we're here for you."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 1 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen was out buying cookies when Chip arrived home. So Chip goes up to find his dad Plankton, knowing his mom Karen's still shopping. He pushed open the door to his parent's bedroom, where Plankton sits on his bed. "Dad; hi!" Chip yells. Plankton's eye widens, startled by Chip. His body is as still as a statue. For a moment, Chip thinks his dad might be playing a prank on him, but then realizes something isn't right. "Dad? Dad!" Chip shakes Plankton's arm, but there's no response. Panic starts to build in his chest as he calls out louder, but Plankton doesn't budge. Chip's seen his dad in his zone before, but this is different. Plankton's eye glazed over, unblinking. Chip doesn't understand why he's not reacting, and he's too scared to leave the room. He tries once more to get his father's attention. "Dad, you're scaring me," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Yet Plankton remains motionless, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding inside Chip. Chip's heard of people passing out, but his dad has never done this before. He tries to recall any information about his dad that might explain this eerie situation but comes up empty-handed. Everything seems in place, but the sight of his dad, so unresponsive, sends a chill down his spine, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. How's he gonna wake his dad up? He's seen him get lost in his thoughts before, his mind a whirlwind of genius ideas, but this... this is something he's never seen. He touches Plankton's face gently, expecting a flinch or a grumble, but nothing happens. It's as if his dad isn't even there, like he's a mannequin in a store window. "Dad?" Chip calls out, his voice a little louder now, trying to shake off his fear. "You okay?" Nothing. He needs to try something else. He remembers a TV show where a person was snapped out of a trance by a loud noise. Chip rushes to the kitchen, grabbing a pot and spoon, his footsteps echoing in the silent house. His hands shake as he crashes the pot against the spoon, creating a cacophony. He didn't know he's just causing his dad more pain. The sound reverberates throughout the house, but Plankton remains still. Chip's hope dwindles, fear taking its place. He wonders if he should call for help, but what if his dad wakes up? He's always so independent. What's Karen going to think? But Chip put the pot and spoon back. He goes back to Plankton, whom Chip didn't realize retreated even further into his overload with the touching and noises. Chip's panic is turning into something more akin to dread. "Dad?" Chip's voice cracks as he calls out again, his eyes scanning Plankton's face for any flicker of recognition. Yet none comes. Oblivious to the concept of autistic absence seizures, Chip has no idea that his dad's lack of response is due to a bombard of sensory input. In his desperation, Chip starts to pat his dad's cheeks, hoping to bring him back to reality. Plankton's skin feels cool and clammy under his fingertips, and the sight of his father's normally vivid eye now vacant sends a wave of terror crashing through his body. He's seen him zone out before, lost in his own world of inventions and schemes, but this is different. It's not the same as when he's busy at the chum bucket. He tries to remember if his dad ever talked about any health issues, but all that comes to mind are tales of his dad's past adventures. Could it be something serious? Was it something he missed? The weight of the situation presses down on him, making it hard to breathe. He feels helpless, unsure of what to do next. He's just a kid, not a doctor or a hero. Yet Chip decides trying to force him out of it. "Dad, come on, you gotta snap out of it!" Chip says, his voice shaking. He's seen this in movies, right? Someone's got to shake the person or something? He decides to do it. Gently at first, then more firmly as panic sets in. But Plankton remains unmoving, his gaze unchanged. Chip's fear turns into full-blown terror. What if his dad's in some kind of danger? What if he's stuck like this forever? Chip's mind races with worst-case scenarios as he continues to pat Plankton's face, his voice getting louder with each attempt. But no matter what he does, his dad doesn't react. The room feels like it's closing in around him. He tries to hold back tears not knowing what to do when your dad has a... what is this? He can't even name whatever's happening. He's seen his dad zone out before, during dinner or when he's in the middle of one of his crazy inventions, but this is something else. This is not the usual Plankton. This is not the dad he knows. He tries another way to force him out of it, with no knowledge of risking literally making Plankton get literally sick. He shakes Plankton harder, his voice growing more desperate. "Dad, you gotta snapshot out of this! It's not funny anymore!" But his father's body is like dead weight, his eye still unblinking. Chip feels a tear slip down his screen. He tries a different approach to physically force his dad out of this. He tickles him. Plankton always hates tickling, so surely this will work. But his dad's body doesn't even flinch. It's like he's not even there. He tries to think logically, but fear clouds his judgment. He doesn't understand why Plankton isn't snapping out of it. Why isn't he getting annoyed or saying his usual, 'Chip, stop that!' So Chip decides he needs to take matters into his own hands. He decides to forcefully get Plankton to react. He grabs a pillow and holds it over Plankton, thinking that an impromptu pillow fight might bring him back to the present. But even as Plankton's body topples to the side, he doesn't react. Chip's seen his dad ignore him before, but this is not the same. This is not the Plankton who would normally swat the pillow away with a laugh or a scolding. By then, Karen's finally come home from shopping, setting the cookies on the kitchen counter when Chip runs up to her in tears. "Mom! Dad's DEAD or, something.." he sobs, pulling her to the bedroom. "He won't wake up, and he's not moving!" Karen follows Chip into the bedroom, and she immediately knows what's happening. She sees Plankton lying on the bed, his body completely still, and Chip's tear-stained screen. Plankton never wanted Chip to know of his neurodisability, so they never told. It's something they both learnt to deal with while hiding it from Chip, but now Chip's seeing it firsthand. Karen aches for her son, his innocence shattered by fear. Yet she knew Plankton needs her more right now. "Mom, I just said hi to him and he froze. I've tried to shake him, yell at him, tickle him, and even hit him with a pillow, but he won't wake up!" Chip's words come out in a frantic rush. Karen's eyes fill with understanding and she hurries to Plankton's side. "Chip," she says calmly, knowing now's not the time to explain to Chip about neurodisabilities, nor how Chip unintentionally triggered him more; "Mommy will handle it. Why don't you go to your room? I'll take care of daddy." But Chip is too scared to leave his dad's side. He clings to Karen's leg, his small voice quivering. "But I--" Karen gently peels him off her and gives him a reassuring smile. "I know, sweetie. But let me take care of this. You go to your room, and I'll call you when everything's okay." Reluctantly, Chip nods, his eyes still glued to his dad. As he leaves the room, his mind fills with worries and questions. What is happening? Why won't his dad wake up? Meanwhile, Karen sat down by Plankton on the bed as she gently took his hand. She knew this was a moment she had been dreading. Plankton's autistic absence seizures were a part of their lives that they had managed to keep hidden from their son. They didn't want to scare Chip, and Plankton was always so embarrassed by them. But now, it was out in the open, and she had to find a way to explain without frightening Chip further. But for now, she needs to help Plankton out of the absence seizure first.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 13 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) The living room is dimly lit. But in the center, a disturbing sight awaits: Plankton's convulsions, his tiny body writhing on the floor. His antennae twitch erratically, his eye squeezed shut. "Plankton!" she cries out, rushing to his side. His seizure is intense, his limbs flailing uncontrollably. The room seems to pulse with his distress, a silent scream of neurological turmoil. Chip stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and helpless. The sight of Plankton's tiny form convulsing on the floor fills him with a fear like none other. Karen is already beside Plankton, her hands hovering, knowing better than to restrict his thrashing body. "Mom," Chip says, his voice trembling. "What do we do?" Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's contorted form, her face a mask of calm determination. "We stay here," she says, her voice steady. "We keep talking to him, let him know we care." Chip nods, his own eyes filled with fear. He takes a tentative step forward, his voice shaking. "Dad," he says softly, "it's me, Chip." His words are met with only the sound of Plankton's labored breathing and the muffled thuds of his convulsions. Karen's gaze flicks to Chip, her expression a mix of pride and anxiety. "Good boy," she whispers, before turning back to Plankton. "Shh, baby," she says, her voice soothing, like a lullaby in the chaos. "We're right here." Chip watches his mom, her hands a gentle presence near his dad's body, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his seizure. He wants to help, to do something, anything, but he's paralyzed by fear. Karen's eyes flicker to her son, her expression a silent plea for him to stay calm. She knows Plankton's sensitivity to stimuli, the way his condition can spiral if overwhelmed. "Talk to him," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sounds of his distress. "Tell him you love him." Chip nods, his voice shaking. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I love you." His words hang in the air, a soft contrast to the harsh sounds of Plankton's seizure. Plankton's body continues to convulse, but Karen notices his antennae twitch slightly, his eye fluttering open for a moment before it squeezes shut again. She sighs with relief, knowing he can hear them. "Keep talking," she whispers to Chip, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Tell him you're here for him, that you're sorry." Chip swallows hard, his throat tight with fear. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make things worse." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his seizure lessening but not abating. Karen's eyes are filled with desperation as she whispers, "Keep talking, Chip. He needs to hear it." Chip's voice is shaky, his eyes never leaving his father's trembling form. "I'm sorry for what I said," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to hurt you." His words are a gentle coax, trying to guide Plankton back from the edge of his breakdown. Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton's seizing body, "It's okay, baby," she says, her tone a soothing melody. "You're not alone." Chip watches his mom's steady hands hover over his dad's shaking form. He takes a deep breath, his voice a shaky thread. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his words a quiet promise. Karen's eyes flick to him, a silent thank you. The room seems to hold its breath, the air charged with hope and dread. Plankton's convulsions start to ease, his breaths coming in shallower gasps. Karen's hand reaches out, brushing his twitching antennae with a gentle touch, a silent reassurance. Chip's voice is a soft whisper, a beacon in the storm of his father's distress. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to fight." Karen's hand rests gently on Plankton's back, her touch as light as a feather. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "We're here for you." Plankton's seizure starts to subside, his body gradually stilling. His antennae drop, his breaths slowing. The tension in the room eases like the retreating waves of a storm. Karen's hand remains on his back, her eyes filled with a love that's fierce and tender. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "You're safe now." Her words are a gentle reminder that their love is his anchor. Plankton's body relaxes gradually, his antennae stilling. His eye opens, slowly focusing on Karen's face. His voice is weak, his words a soft rasp. "K-Karen?" "I'm here," she says, her voice calm, her hand still on his back. "You're okay." Her eyes are filled with a love that's stronger than steel, her presence a comforting weight. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking rapidly as the world swims back into focus. He looks up at her, his gaze uncertain. "I... I-I'm s-sorry," he whispers, his voice a reed in the wind. Karen's eyes are filled with pain and love. She gently guides him to sit up, her arms supporting him. "Don't be sorry," she says, her voice a balm. "We just need to talk." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching hers. "Talk?" he repeats, his voice weak. "Yes," Karen says firmly, her arms around him. "We need to communicate better, all of us." Her gaze includes Chip, who's still standing awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes fixed on his father. Chip's heart pounds in his chest, his fear giving way to determination. He moves to his mother's side, his hand tentatively reaching out to his father's arm. "Dad," he says, his voice a gentle touch. Plankton's body jerks at his son's touch, but Karen's calming presence helps him steady. His antennae quiver, his eye flickering between his wife and son, the confusion giving way to a hint of understanding. "Chip?" he asks, his voice a whisper. Chip nods, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Yeah, Dad," he says, his voice cracking. "It's me." He takes a deep breath, his hand shaking slightly as it rests on Plankton's arm. "I didn't mean what I said." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking rapidly as he tries to process the situation. "You... you didn't?" he stammers, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Chip didn't mean it, Plankton," she says soothingly. "He's just scared, and he loves you." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye misting with tears. "But I scared him," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "And you." Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she shakes her head. "It's not your fault, baby," she says gently. "Your autism doesn't make you a monster." Chip nods, his hand still on his father's arm, his voice steady. "Dad, I know it's not your fault," he says, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm sorry for not understanding." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his eye focusing on Chip's face. "You do?" he whispers, hope flickering in his gaze. Chip nods, his own eyes brimming with tears. "I do," he affirms, his voice stronger. "I'm here for you, Dad." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching Chip's face for signs of sincerity. The silence in the room is heavy, a tangible entity filled with unspoken words and apologies. Then, ever so slightly, Plankton's antennae bob, a sign of his acceptance. "Okay," he says, his voice still shaky. "We'll talk." Karen's eyes fill with relief, a soft smile playing on her lips. She squeezes his arm gently. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice filled with gratitude. "We're in this together."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 19 (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 Plankton turns away from his son. Chip's screen shows his determination. "I'll stay here," he says. "As long as it takes." He sits down. But he's not giving up. "I know you're mad," he says, his voice gentle. "And I know you're hurt. But I'm not going anywhere." Still no response. Plankton's antennae twitch every now and then, but he doesn't say a word. Chip's heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vice, but he doesn't move. "Dad, remember the time we built that sandcastle together?" he asks, his voice soft. "You laughed so hard when it collapsed." His screen flickers with the memory of Plankton's joy, his antennae waving in delight. "You were so proud of me, even though it was just a pile of sand." He pauses, his throat tight when Plankton looks away. "I want to make you laugh like that again. And I'll do everything to make it right." But Plankton's silence is a reminder of the distance between them. Chip's voice cracks as he continues. "I know I don't get it all," he admits. "But I'm trying. I'll keep trying. I'll never stop." The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioner. He reaches out, his hand trembling, and places the headphones on Plankton's desk. "Whenever you're ready," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "They're for you." He stands there, his screen reflecting his hope, his fear. He waits, every second an eternity. Plankton doesn't move, his back a wall of silence. Chip's heart is a drum, pounding with desperation. But he doesn't leave. He sits down on the bed. "Dad," he says, his voice steady, "I know you're upset. And you have every right to be. But I'm not going anywhere." His screens flicker with hope and fear. "I'm your son, and I love you." Plankton's antennae twitch, but he says nothing. Chip's heart feels like it's breaking. He tries to think of anything else to say, anything to break the silence. But the words stick in his throat, like glue. He sits there for what feels like hours, the weight of his father's pain pressing down on his shoulders. Plankton's ignorance is like a fog, thick and impenetrable. Chip's screens flicker with memories of their shared past, the laughs, the tears, the moments that seemed unbreakable. He whispers again, his voice barely a breath. "Dad, I'm so sorry." The words hang in the air, a silent prayer for forgiveness. Plankton's antennae don't move. Chip's screen is a maelstrom of emotions. He can't believe his father would cut him off like this. But he knows Plankton's pain is deep, and his own understanding of autism still has so much room to grow. He sits in silence, watching his father's back, willing him to turn around. "I know I hurt you," Chip says, his voice a whisper. "But I'm here to listen, to learn." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he doesn't move. Chip's heart feels like it's shriveling in his chest. "Can you tell me what I can do?" he asks, his screen flickering with hope. "Please?" The minutes drag on, each one a silent accusation. Chip's mind races, searching for the right words, the right gesture to mend the rift. He knows Plankton's anger is a shield, a way to keep the world at bay. But he's desperate to reach the tender heart beneath. "I won't let you go. We're family." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. Chip can feel the energy in the room shift, but he doesn't dare move. "Dad, I know I hurt you," he says, his voice shaking. "But I'm here now. I'm listening." The silence stretches on, a tightrope he's afraid to cross. The room is a prison of unspoken words, each moment stretching into an eternity. Chip's screens are a kaleidoscope of regret and longing. "Please," he whispers. "Tell me what I can do." Plankton's antennae droop, but he turns away. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. "Dad, I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice a fractured echo. "But I can't fix this if you don't let me in." Plankton's antennae quiver, a silent response to his son's plea. Chip's eyes are a pool of unshed tears, his heart racing. "I know you're in there," he says, his voice shaking. "And I know you're hurting." The room is a testament to their struggle, the air charged with the electricity of unspoken words. Chip's screens dim, his hope fading. He's tried everything, spoken every apology, offered every gesture. But Plankton's back remains a wall, unyielding to his son's pain. "Dad," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I need you." The words hang in the air, desperate for a response. The silence is a symphony of unspoken anger and regret. Chip's screens flicker with the realization that understanding autism isn't a quick fix. It's a journey of patience, of learning to read the subtle cues that make up Plankton's communication. He sighs, his shoulders slumped. "I'll be here," he says, his voice resigned. "Whenever you're ready." But Plankton doesn't speak. The room is a testament to their strained relationship, the torn photos and crumpled cards a stark reminder of what's been lost. Chip's heart heavily, his mind racing with thoughts of how he can bridge this gap. "Dad," he says, his voice small. "I'm going to give you space. But I'm not going to give up on us." He turns to leave, his screen flickering with sadness. As he steps into the hallway, the door clicks shut behind him, a silent echo of Plankton's rejection. Chip leans against the wall, his screen a canvas of swirling emotions. He's hurt, confused, but most of all, he's determined. He'll show Dad that he's not just a kid playing at empathy. He'll prove it. He starts with the house, replacing the torn photos, smoothing out the cards. Each action a silent apology, a promise to do better. He fills a new sensory box. He'll try. Chip's screens pulse with his newfound resolve. He'll make this right. He'll show Dad that he's not just words. That he's action. That he's here, truly here. He'll be the bridge between them. He gathers supplies, a box of textures, a rainbow of fidgets, things that sparkle, things that roll, things that make sounds. He remembers Dad's favorites: the squishy balls, the smooth stones, the spinners that twirl. He adds a few new things too, things he read about that might help, like a weighted blanket, soft and comforting. He gets some of his old toys, the ones Dad used to play with him, now a bridge to a different kind of play. The room is quiet, his heart a symphony of hope. He arranges everything carefully, each item a stepping stone to repair. He thinks about the articles, the videos he's watched, the stories he's read. He tries to see the world through his dad's eye. The box is a treasure trove, a sanctuary for Plankton's sensory needs. Chip's fingers shake as he places each item with care, his mind racing with thoughts of Plankton's smile, his laugh. He knows it won't fix everything, but it's a start.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 20 (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 He opens the door, his screen a canvas of hope and fear. Plankton's back is still turned, his antennae still drooping. "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice shaking. "I made you a new sensory box." He holds it out, an offering, his heart in his throat. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't turn around. Chip's screen flickers with uncertainty. "It's got all your favorites," he says, his voice trembling. "And some new stuff." He takes a step forward, his hand shaking. "I want to help." Plankton's body remains still, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart feels like it's been shattered into a million pieces. But he holds out the box, his hand steady. "I know I don't get it all," he says, his voice soft. "But I'm trying." He watches as Plankton's antennas twitch, a small sign of life in the sea of silence. He takes a deep breath. "This is for you," he says, his voice a whisper. "Whenever you need it." He places the box on the bed, close to Plankton. "Whenever you're ready." When Chip leaves the room, Plankton takes a look in the new box. He's not ready to forgive, but the gesture isn't lost on him. His antennae twitch with a mix of anger and appreciation. The box is a treasure trove of sensory comforts, a silent apology wrapped in care. He picks up a squishy ball, squeezes it, feels its calming give. He turns to face the door, his eye on the empty space where Chip was just moments ago. The weight of their words, their emotions, hangs in the air like a storm cloud. Plankton's heart is a tumultuous sea, a whirl of feelings he can't quite articulate. But the box, it's something he can touch, something tangible amidst the chaos. He opens the box, his antennae twitching with curiosity. Each item inside is a memory, a bridge to their past, a promise for the future. He picks up a smooth stone, feeling its coolness against his skin. It's comforting. The headphones lay at the top, a silent guardian of peace. He puts them on, the cacophony of the outside world muffled. For the first time in hours, his mind is still, quiet. He can breathe. He keeps looking in the box. A fidget spinner, its colors blending as it twirls. He's watched Chip play with them before, spinning them absently, lost in thought. Now it's in his hands, a whirl of motion. It's strange, but comforting. He tries to mimic his son's ease, his mind racing with the thought that maybe, just maybe, his pain is understood. A squishy ball, soft and yielding, like his own heart under the weight of his frustration. He squeezes it, feeling the tension ease from his fingers, his mind. It's like a silent scream, a gentle release. He hadn't realized how much he needed this. He picks up a fidget cube, each side a different texture. He runs his antennae over the bumps, the smoothness. It's calming, the way it chases the chaos from his thoughts. He twists it in his hands, the click-clack a metronome to his racing thoughts. He takes off the headphones. The room is quiet, but he can still feel the echoes of Chip's voice, his son's hope. He holds the cube tightly, his antennae vibrating with the memory of Chip's earnest pleas for forgiveness. He's not ready to forgive, but the gesture isn't lost on him. He opens the drawer beside his bed, rummaging through the medical supplies. His fingers trace over cool numbing gel, the pediatric-friendly kind that Chip had used at his dentist. Then he feels it, the edge of a pin, the weight of a heartfelt gesture. He pulls it out, his antennae trembling. He opens it. It's a small booklet. On the cover, in bold letters, it reads "AUTISM FRIENDLY EMERGENCY INSTRUCTIONS." Chip's handwriting. He opens it to read a guide for doctors, for neighbors, for anyone who might not understand. Inside, the pages are filled with simple diagrams and bullet points, detailing Plankton's sensory needs, his stims, his triggers. Chip's words are written: "My dad's special, and he has a thing called autism. It means sometimes things are too much for him, and he needs help." The booklet is a map of Plankton's soul, a guide to his inner world. "Please, be patient and calm. He's not being difficult, he's just overwhelmed." Chip's words are a lifeline, a bridge to understanding. "Make sure to respect his boundaries," it says. "And don't touch him without asking first." It then has Karen's phone number and his sensory friendly therapist's contact. Plankton's antennae quiver as he reads, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and pain. His son has taken the time to understand him, to advocate for him. He closes it gently, his eye wet with unshed tears. "Thank you," he whispers to the empty room as he puts the booklet back in the box. Plankton sets the box of goods on his nightstand. He turns to go to his son's room. He opens the door to Chip's room, the space a whirlwind of colors and sounds. His heart flutters with nerves, his antennae twitching. Chip's screen is dim, casting a soft glow. He's asleep. Plankton pauses, not ready to wake him, not yet. But he wants him to know. He sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches out, his hand hovering over Chip's shoulder. He needs to feel the connection, the warmth of his son. He touches him gently, his hand trembling as he slides his hand in Chip's, who remains asleep. Plankton sighs, his chest tightening. He can't find the words to explain the tornado of emotions whirling inside him. He's not used to this kind of connection, not with Chip. He looks at his son's sleeping form, his screen a serene blue. The silent rise and fall of Chip's chest. Plankton's antennae quiver, his heart racing with a strange mixture of emotions. He's not used to this kind of intimacy, not with Chip. But the box and booklet he left in his nightstand, it's all a testament to his son's growth. He's trying. Plankton lies down on the bed. He can feel the gentle weight of Chip's hand in his own. The boy's screens are dark now, his breaths slow and steady. Later, Chip eventually stirs awake, his screens flickering with surprise when he feels the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder. Plankton is asleep beside him, their hands entwined. Chip's heart skips a beat, his mind racing with questions. What happened? Did his dad forgive him? Yet Plankton's gentle snores are real, his antennae still. He looks down at their intertwined hands, a silent testament to something new, something unspoken. The weight of his dad's forgiveness? Or just the comfort of shared space? Chip isn't sure, but he's grateful for the warmth, the connection. He lies there for a while, his screens dimming to match his father's rest. His mind is a whirl of thoughts, of what's been said and not said. Of the distance they've traveled, and the journey still ahead. But for now, this moment, it's enough.

"𝖮𝗁 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍.." 𝖣𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍? 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 '𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅' 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 1 Chip, adopted at birth by Karen and Plankton, came home from summer camp an hour early since the traffic was better than originally expected. The house was unusually quiet, his parent's bedroom door ajar. He overheard Karen talking to Plankton in a hushed tone. "It's ok, sweetie. You're going to be ok." Chip decides to eavesdrop on them. He saw Plankton sitting in bed, his body still, eye unblinking. Karen was stroking his hand, looking to calm. Chip tiptoed closer to the door. Karen's voice grew clearer. "It's ok, just a little longer, and you'll be back with me." Plankton's hand twitched slightly under hers. Chip swallowed hard. It wasn't his imagination; something was off. Curiosity gnawed at him as he listened, his heart thumping louder than the ticking clock. Plankton's face remained frozen, his eye vacant. Chip had never seen him like this before. Was he sick? In pain? Chip felt his own body tense up as he strained to make sense of the scene. "Remember," Karen whispered, "it's like daydreaming, but your body is here with me." Chip leaned in closer, trying to make out the words. "It's ok," she repeated, her voice soothing. "I'm here. You're safe." Plankton's hand moved again, slightly, as if to squeeze hers back. It dawned on Chip that this was like a regular event for them behind closed doors. The mystery grew heavier in the air. Chip had heard of people fainting, getting dizzy, or even having seizures before, but never anything so... quiet. His mind raced with questions, each more confusing than the last. What was happening to Dad? Why hadn't his parents ever mentioned this? He watched, unnoticed, as Plankton's chest rose and fell evenly, but he was utterly unresponsive. Chip's curiosity turned to concern. He knew he should probably leave, but his feet were rooted to the floor. The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed to keep the afternoon sun from piercing through, as Plankton finally starts to stir. His eye blinks slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, and his hand grips Karen's firmly despite his grogginess. "Welcome back," Karen says with relief, her voice no longer a whisper. She kisses his forehead gently. Chip's eyes widened. He'd never seen his dad come out of such a strange state before. It was eerie, yet somehow comforting to see his mom's tender care. He felt like an intruder, but his worry for his dad overpowered his guilt. Plankton's voice was weak when he finally spoke. "Was it... I had another one didn't I.." Karen nodded solemnly, her grip on his hand tightening. "It's okay. You're okay now. I still think we should tell Chip abou–" "No," Plankton cut her off, his voice stronger now, but filled with a hint of fear. "Not yet." Chip held his breath, not wanting to alert them to his presence. The room remained silent for a moment, thick with the weight of the unspoken. Chip's heart raced as he tried to piece together the puzzle of his father's condition. He felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing anything amiss before, but the scene was so surreal, so unlike anything he'd ever witnessed. Plankton took a deep breath and shifted in bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. "We can't," he said, his voice gaining strength. "He's no-" "Plankton, your disability is a part of you," Karen interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. "Our son deserves to know, to understand." Chip's stomach clenched. Disability? Was that what this was? He felt a mix of fear and confusion. What kind of disability could cause this? He leaned closer to the crack in the door, his heart thumping like a drum in his chest. Plankton looked up at Karen, his single eye filled with a determination Chip hadn't seen before in such a vulnerable moment. "Karen," he said, his voice steady, "Chip might sta-" "We can't keep it from him forever. He's not a little kid anymore." He leaned in further, his ear pressed to the crack in the door. "Karen," Plankton's voice was insistent, "Chip won't understand. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen sighed, her hand stroking his arm in a comforting manner. "He's growing up." "He's not grown up," Plankton protested, his voice still weak. "What if he decides not to love me anymore?" Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, filled with sorrow and love. "Chip loves you for who you are, not for what you can or cannot do. You know that." The silence grew heavier, but Plankton's expression didn't ease. Chip's mind raced, trying to understand what he was hearing. Disability? How could his dad have a disability? He had always been so active, so strong, so...normal?

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 2 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen takes a deep breath and squeezes Plankton's hand, calling his name softly. "Plankton, sweetie, come back to me." Her voice is a lifeline, a warm presence that Plankton's mind might be able to cling to. She knows from experience that his seizures can eventually be helped by her voice and gentle touch. "I'm here, it's okay," she whispers, stroking his antennae with her thumb. Chip's cries fade as he heads to his room. He's scared, confused, and feels alone. He doesn't know why his dad is acting so weird, but he trusts his mom. Eventually, Plankton's eye starts to blink, a sign that he's coming back. Karen's with relief, and she squeezes his hand, continuing to speak in hushed tones. "You're ok, Plankton. You're home with me." She knows how disorienting these episodes can be for him, and she wants to make sure he's fully grounded before anything else. As Plankton's gaze slowly refocuses, Karen watches. He tries to sit up, yet his body feels heavy and sluggish. "What happened?" he asks, his voice a croak. Karen's relief is palpable as she helps him sit up, still holding his hand. "You just had one of your episodes, sweetie. It's okay." She's careful with her words, not wanting to alarm him. "What do you remember?" Plankton looks around the room. "Chip," he murmurs. "Chip yelled hi, and then everything's patchy. I felt his presence yet I kept going deeper into the retreat, but I vaguely recall Chip bombarding me. And now I guess you apparently came.." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "Yes, Chip saw you and was scared. He didn't know what was happening." Plankton's face pales at the thought of his son being afraid. "Is he alr- Chip; he must've seen me! He witnessed..." Karen nods solemnly. "Yes, he saw everything. He's in his room now, I told him to stay there." Plankton sighs heavily, his eye closing briefly. "I know you're gonna say to tell him everything, how he's mature enough. Great, just great." Karen nods, her voice gentle. "We can't keep this from him forever, Plankton. He's seen you like this now. It's time to explain what's happening." Plankton sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. He knows she's right, but the thought of Chip knowing his secret makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. But Karen's voice is firm. "We can't keep hiding this from him. He's old enough now. We have to tell him. I'll bring him in, okay?" Plankton nods weakly, his heart racing at the thought. He knows Karen is right; they can't keep this from him forever. Karen heads to Chip's room to find him curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. His eyes are swollen from crying. "Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. "Can you come with me?" Chip sniffs and nods, his eyes darting to the door. He's afraid, but he knows his mom will make it right. He follows her into the bedroom, where Plankton sits up, looking drained but alert. "Dad!" Chip cries out, running to Plankton's side. Plankton starts to scoot away. Karen intervenes quickly. "Chip, honey, let's give Daddy some space," she says, her voice calm but firm. Chip frowns, not understanding. "But he's okay?" Chip asks, his voice small and hopeful. "Yes, Chip," Karen says, sitting on the bed with Plankton. "Daddy just had a little... Plankton, why don't you tell him?" Plankton sighs, bracing himself for the conversation he's been avoiding. "Chip, what you saw was something you were never meant to see. You weren't supposed to see me like that. So I don't wanna hear a peep about it, ok?" Chip's eyes widen with confusion. "But what was that, Dad?" His voice is small, filled with fear. Plankton hesitates, trying to find the right words. "I JUST TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!" he snaps, his voice sharp. Chip flinches, surprised by his dad's harsh tone. Karen sighs, taking the lead. "Chip, honey, your dad's okay. It's like his brain goes on a tiny vacation without telling his body, and he can't move or talk during it." She tries to make it sound less scary. Chip's eyes grow wider, but his curiosity isn't satisfied. "But why? Why ca--" Plankton cuts him off, his tone sharp with agitation. "I don't have to explain myself to you." Chip's confusion turns to hurt. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He just wanted his dad to wake up. "Dad, you were just sitting ther-" But Plankton's harshness cuts him off again. "I said forget it, Chip! It's nothing you need to know!" Plankton's voice is filled with frustration and fear. Chip's eyes well up with new tears. "But I just wanted you to wake up," he whispers, his voice breaking. "Yo--" Plankton's sharpness slices through the air, his usual playfulness nowhere to be found. "I SAID, FORGET IT!" Karen's eyes widen at her husband's reaction. "Plankton, honey, maybe we should just tell him. He's seen it now; we can't keep hiding it," she suggests gently, trying to ease the tension in the room. Plankton looks at her with a mix of frustration and fear, his antennae twitching. "Fine," he grumbles, his voice softening. "But remember, this is my story, not yours." Chip, still sniffling, looks between his mom and dad. Karen gives Plankton a gentle yet firm look, and he sighs heavily. "Okay, Chip," he starts, "I've corpus callosum dysgenesis." Chip looks at him, puzzled. "What's th-" "It's a brain thing, okay?" Plankton cuts him off, his tone gruffer than usual. He can't bear the thought of his son knowing. Chip nods slowly, trying to comprehend. "But w---" "That's all you need to know," Plankton says, his voice clipped and final. But Chip's curiosity doesn't wane. "But, Dad, why can't you just wake up?" he asks, his eyes filled with concern and confusion. Plankton's antennae twitch in irritation. "CHIP, I TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!" His voice is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. Chip recoils, his screen brimming with unshed tears. He doesn't understand why his dad is so upset. He just wanted to help, to make him snapshot out of whatever was wrong. Chip tries again. "Dad, Mom said you can't keep whatever from me anymo-" "ENOUGH, CHIP!" Plankton's shout echoes through the room. "It's not your business, it's mine! Now get lost!" The pain in Plankton's voice is palpable, and Chip can't understand why. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his heart aching. "But Dad, I just wanted to he-" "I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton's voice booms through the room, his antennae quivering with frustration. Chip's voice trails off, and he takes a step back. He's never seen his dad so upset, and it scares him. "But Dad, I don't know what's wrong with you!" Chip's voice is small, his eyes filled with fresh tears. Plankton's outburst has only confused him more. Oblivious to Plankton's internal turmoil, Chip doesn't realize his dad's reaction is due to his autism. But the outburst only adds to Chip's confusion and fear. He looks at Karen with pleading eyes, desperately seeking comfort and answers.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY x (By NeuroFabulous) They stepped out of the car, the sand crunching beneath their feet. Chip looked over at Plankton, his heart racing with hope. "Ready?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton nodded, his antennas lifting slightly. "Let's go," he said, his voice still tight. But there was a hint of excitement in his eye, and Chip felt a glimmer of hope. The beach was relatively empty, the waves rolling gently onto the shore. Karen gave them a beach ball and sat down, watching her family with a mix of hope and trepidation. Chip tossed the ball to Plankton, his eyes searching his dad's antennas for any signs of discomfort. They were slightly elevated, but not as tight as they had been earlier. Plankton caught the ball with unexpected grace, his antennas twitching with concentration. He threw it back with a soft chuckle, his arm moving in a fluid arc. The ball sailed through the air, catching the sun's glint before landing in Chip's outstretched hands. Karen watched from their picnic blanket, her heart swelling with pride. It was a simple game, but it was a bridge between them, a way to connect without words. She saw the tension in Plankton's shoulders ease slightly with every catch and throw, his antennas swaying gently with the rhythm of their play. Chip's laughter was like music, his movements uncoordinated but earnest as he tried to keep the ball in the air. Plankton's eye followed the ball, his antennas twitching in time with the breeze. The beach ball arced through the sky, a bright spot of color against the azure backdrop of the ocean. Plankton's gaze never left it, his focus unwavering. When it reached its peak, he lunged, his arm snapping up to meet it. The crack of the ball against his hand echoed in the salty air as it soared back towards Chip. Sand flew up around his feet as he took a step back, bracing for the impact. The ball hit his hands with surprising force, but he managed to keep it in play. Plankton's antennas waved slightly as he watched, his eye flicking from the ball to Chip and back again. His movements were precise, almost robotic, but there was something undeniably graceful about the way he played. It was as if the beach, the waves, and the wind were all part of a grand symphony, and he was the maestro conducting it with the flicker of a smile. Chip, on the other hand, was a flurry of awkward limbs and enthusiasm. He stumbled and tripped, but never lost his determination. With each catch, his smile grew wider, and his laughter grew louder. He was discovering a new side to his father, one that didn't need words to express joy. Their volleys grew longer, their movements more in sync. Plankton's antennas swayed with the rhythm of their game, a silent testament to his enjoyment. Karen watched from the picnic blanket, her heart full. For the first time in a long while, she saw a genuine smile on Plankton's face, one that wasn't forced or fleeting. But then, Chip's laughter grew too loud, too abrupt, and Plankton's antennas snapped back, his body tensing. Karen's smile faltered, knowing what was coming. "Oh wow!" Chip exclaimed as he made an impressive catch, his voice booming across the beach. Plankton's body jerked at the sudden noise, his eye widening in surprise. For a moment, Chip didn't notice, his excitement clouding his judgment. But then he saw Plankton's antennas flatten against his head, a clear sign of distress. His heart sank as he realized his mistake. "Sorry, Dad," he said quickly, his voice softer. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's eye blinked rapidly, his antennas quivering as he tried to regain his composure. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice strained. "Just... just don't do that again." Chip nodded, his own smile fading as he saw his dad's distress. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the excitement bubbling inside. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton had already turned away, his antennas drooping as he stared out at the sea. Karen's eyes met Chip's over his shoulder, a silent message of understanding and reassurance. She knew her son had meant well, but the sudden loudness had triggered discomfort, risking sensory overload. Chip felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He knew he had to be more careful, more mindful of his father's needs. He took a deep breath, trying to push down the urge to apologize again. Instead, he opted for a gentler approach, his voice low. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer. "Let's sit for a bit?" Plankton's antennas twitched, his body still tense from the sudden sound. He nodded, his eye not leaving the hypnotic dance of the waves. Chip followed his dad's gaze, the apology still lingering on his tongue. He swallowed it down, knowing it wouldn't help now. Instead, he sat down next to him, leaving a respectful distance between them. He watched as Plankton's antennas slowly began to rise, his breathing evening out. The waves continued their rhythmic dance on the shore, and Chip focused on their soothing sound, hoping it would calm his father as well. He knew Plankton was sensitive to noise, and he had forgotten in his excitement. He vowed to do better next time, to remember his dad's boundaries.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 15 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Chip sits carefully, not wanting to jostle his father. He tries to think of something to say, his mind racing with questions and fears. What if he says the wrong thing? What if he makes it worse? Karen returns with a pillow and blanket, her movements efficient. She places the pillow under Plankton's head and covers him with the blanket, her touch a silent symphony of care. Plankton's body shudders slightly, his antennae still. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice a thread of exhaustion. Chip watches, his heart heavy. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. The armor of his sarcasm and bravado laid bare. He wants to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but his thoughts are a jumbled mess. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking slowly as he tries to find the words. "Chip," he says, his voice still weak. "I've had this since I was born. And I liked school but, it was to hard for me to be comfortable." Chip nods, his eyes on his father's still form. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice gentle. "We can talk about it. What was school like for you?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye opening slightly. "It was... good and bad," he whispers. "I did enjoy science, like I do now. Kids are clueless, but it still hurt when they'd treat me like an outsider. Yet some of the teachers..." He trails off, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart clenches, his hand resting lightly on the couch cushion. "What about the teachers?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his eye opening a bit more. "Some were awful," he says, his voice a soft echo of past memories. "They blamed me for things I couldn't control, didn't understand. One in particular literally went and said, 'you are just a waste of space, an example of parents choosing the wrong path of life by having you.' And then I had an absence seizure. When I 'came back' from it, you know what she said? She said, 'See, kids? That's what happens when parents decide to keep a mistake.'" His antennae drop, the weight of the memory heavy on his shoulders. "I then started convulsing seizure, and was tied to the chair!" Karen's eyes flash with anger as she walked by. "Plankton," she says, unintentionally startling him, "you never told me that.." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face contorting into an expression of pain. "It was a long time ago," he whispers, his voice a ghost of what it once was. "But the words... they stay with me." Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his hand clenching into a fist. "That's not right," he says, his voice tight. "They had no right to treat you like that." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face a mask of resignation. "I did have some good teachers too. One nice teacher noticed me having an absence seizure and the other kids started to notice how I didn't budge. But the teacher, she was gentle, kind and understanding. So when she noticed an absence seizure happening, she put this little hand-made cover over my eye to block out the line of sight. She knew it'd help me return to reality without the sensory overload, as well as keep the other kids from staring to much." Chip's eyes are filled with admiration of his dad. "That was really nice of her," he says, his voice filled with emotion. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye focusing on Chip's face. "It was," he whispers. "It made me feel good." His voice cracks with the weight of his words. "But not everyone is like her." Karen's gaze is intense. "We're your family. We're here to support you. Now it's getting late; I'm going to bed. Do you want to sleep on the couch?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering. "Yes," he whispers. "I... I'll stay." "Can I stay by Dad tonight too?" Chip asks. Karen's gaze flicks to Plankton. "I guess if you don't jostle me?" he says. Karen nods. "Alright, Chip, just be careful not to disturb your father." She kisses their foreheads before leaving the room, her eyes lingering on her husband's exhausted face.

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

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 4 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) In the hallway, Chip's sobs grow quieter as he slumps against the wall, his heart feeling heavy. He didn't mean to hurt his dad; he just wanted to know what was wrong. Karen sits beside Plankton, her heart torn between her son's innocence and her husband's pain. "We need to talk to him," she says gently, stroking his antennae. "We can't let this go unaddressed. But we can do it when you're ready." Plankton nods, his body still tense. "I know," he says, his voice small. "But I just can't... I can't face him right now." Karen nods, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. "Okay, honey. Take your time. But we can't let him think that he's not loved or that his questions are wrong. We need to explain it to him properly." Plankton sighs heavily, his antennae drooping. "I know," he murmurs. "Just talk to him when I'm... ready." Karen nods, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. "Okay," she says, her voice gentle. She gives him a kiss on the forehead and leaves the room to find Chip in his own bedroom. Chip's door is ajar, and she can hear his muffled sobs. She opens it slowly, finding him curled up on his bed, his screen buried in his pillow. She approaches his side, sitting down carefully. "Chip," she says, her voice soothing. "It's okay. You can come out now." He pulls away the pillow, revealing a tear-stained screen. "But Dad..." he sniffles. Karen's eyes fill with sympathy. "I know you didn't mean it, Chip. But you hurt your dad. We need to talk about what happened. And I know you've questions about his autistic disability.." Chip sits up, his eyes red and puffy. "But Mom, why is he so mad at me? I just wanted to know what's going on." Karen sighs, her heart aching for her son. "Chip, sometimes when people are upset or scared, they say things they don't mean. Your dad's not mad at you for asking questions; he's mad at himself for not being able to explain it better. But the words you said hurt him. They hurt him because people have used them before to make him feel less than." Chip looks at her, his eyes still wet with tears. "But I don't want him to feel bad," he murmurs. "I didn't kn-" Karen cuts him off gently. "I know you didn't, Chip. But it's important for us to learn and understand. Your dad's condition isn't a weakness; it's just part of how he is. And sometimes, it can be scary for him too." Chip nods slowly, trying to comprehend the complexity of his dad's condition. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion. "Why does it have to be a secret?" Karen takes a deep breath. "It's not a secret, Chip," she says gently. "It's just something private, something he's not wanting to share with everyone. But now that you know, we can help him." Chip sniffs and nods. "How?" he asks, his voice hopeful. "Well," Karen starts, "you can learn more about autism. You can ask us questions, and we'll answer them the best we can. And when you see Dad having a hard time, you can give him space, or maybe find a quiet spot for him to sit." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand. "Okay, Mom. But what if I want to hug him?" Karen sighs. "Honey, your dad's condition makes certain kinds of touch hard for him to handle. It's not that he doesn't want your love; he just needs it in a different way." Chip looks at her, his eyes still filled with confusion. "But I don't understand," he says, his voice shaking. "How do I know when to hug him?" Karen's smile is sad, but determined. "You'll learn, sweetie. We'll all learn together. Just remember, it's not about fixing him; it's about supporting him." Chip nods, his eyes still filled with unshed tears. "Okay," he says, his voice small. "But I don't want to make him sad." Karen squeezes his hand. "You won't, Chip. We'll get through this together." Chip looks up at her with questioning eyes. "But why does he get those... those seizures?" he asks, still trying to grasp the concept. "They're not exactly seizures, Chip," Karen says, her voice gentle. "It's part of his condition. Sometimes, his brain just needs a break from all the sensory information. It's not something you can see or feel, but it's real for him." Chip nods, his eyes still puffy from crying. "But why doesn't he just tell me when he needs a break?" he asks. "Why does he have to get so angry?" Karen sighs, trying to find the right words to explain. "Chip, your dad's feelings are sometimes like a volcano. They build up and up until they explode. It's not anger at you; it's his way of dealing with the overwhelm. And sometimes, his brain gets too much stimulation without him knowing it. It's like he's trying to read a book while everyone around him is yelling at once. It's just too much." Chip nods slowly, his eyes fixed on his mom. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asks again, his voice still shaky. Karen hugs him. "Because, honey, your dad's had to deal with this his whole life, and sometimes it's hard for him to talk about." Chip nods, trying to understand. "But what if he needs help?" he asks, his voice small. "How will I know?" "You'll learn his cues, Chip. Sometimes he'll get quiet, or his antennae will twitch more than usual. That's when you can check on him, ask if he's okay, but don't push." Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "What if he doesn't say anything?" he asks, his screen searching hers. Karen takes a deep breath. "Then, you'll have to watch for his cues," she says, her voice calm. "If he seems overwhelmed or his antennae are moving a lot, it might be a sign." Chip's eyes light up with curiosity. "What cues, Mom?" he asks eagerly. "How do I know?" Karen smiles softly. "Well, you'll learn, Chip. Like when his antennae get really twitchy, or his eye glazes over. That's when his brain might need a break. And if he starts repeating things, or gets really still, that's another sign." Chip's eyes widen with interest. "So, how do you know, Mom?" he asks, his voice tentative. "How can I see when he's overwhelmed?" "You'll get better at it," Karen assures him. "But for now, just watch and listen. If he starts flapping his arms or repeating words, that's a sign that he might need some space. And if he turns away or covers his eye, it means he's getting too much sensory input." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions. "But you seem to know how to touch him and when to hug him. How'd yo--" Karen smiles sadly. "It's been years of practice, Chip. And I've made my share of mistakes too." She pauses, thinking. "You'll learn his cues, like when his body tenses up, or when his antennae start to quiver quickly. Those are signs he's feeling overwhelmed." Chip nods, his eyes focused on her. "But what about him getting upset?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How do I know when he's about t---" "Chip," Karen says, cutting him off gently. "When he gets upset, his antennae might flare out, or he might rock back and forth. It's his way of self-soothing." Chip's eyes are wide with realization. "So, when he does that, I should...?" "Give him space," Karen interrupts. "Just let him know you're there without overwhelming his senses." Chip nods, trying to memorize every detail.

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

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xiii (By NeuroFabulous) Once Plankton was settled, Chip swallowed his pride and spoke, his voice a whisper. "Can I sleep here by Dad tonight?" Karen paused, her eyes searching Chip's. She knew the request was more than just wanting to be close—it was a plea to be part of Plankton's world, to understand his needs. She nodded. "Of course. Just don't disturb him." Chip nodded. He carefully arranged a pillow and a blanket for his father, tucking him in with gentle precision. Plankton's snores grew deeper, a testament to his comfort, as Chip got a pillow for himself as he got under the blanket. Karen watched from the hallway, her heart swelling with pride. She knew the effort it took for Chip to be so attentive to his father's needs, especially after the emotional turmoil of the day. She whispered a goodnight and retreated to her room, leaving them to their quiet vigil. Chip lay there, his heart racing with the unfamiliar responsibility. He knew Plankton's sleep must be precarious, easily disrupted by the slightest disturbance. He focused on the steady rhythm of his father's breathing, the soft snores that punctuated the silence. He studied Plankton's features in the dim light, noticing the way his antennas lay still against the pillow. He felt a pang of guilt for the stress he had unknowingly caused earlier, but also a fierce determination to be better, to learn and understand. With a gentle touch, Chip reached out and lightly brushed Plankton's antenna. It twitched, but Plankton's sleep remained undisturbed. Chip knew his father's comfort was crucial, especially after the sensory bombards of the day. He lay there for hours, his own thoughts racing with questions about autism and how to support his dad. He made a mental note to find out, to understand the nuances of Plankton's condition, and to become an advocate for his father's needs. The first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, painting the room in a soft glow. Plankton's antennas twitched, his eye fluttering open. Chip held his breath, not wanting to startle him. Slowly, Plankton's antennas lifted, his body stretching with the beginnings of wakefulness. His eye focused on Chip's face, and for a brief moment, there was confusion. Then, recognition. "Chip?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Chip offered a tentative smile. "Hey, Dad," he whispered. Plankton's antennas swayed slightly as he sat up, his eye blinking away the sleep. He took a moment to process the situation, his gaze flitting around the living room. Last thing he remembered, they were all driving home from the beach.

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

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

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

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𝖮𝖴𝖳 𝖮𝖭 𝖠 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖬 pt. 1 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖫𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅: 𝟫-𝟣𝟢𝗍𝗁 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖾 Sheldon Plankton is autistic since birth. His computer wife, Karen, knows all about it. But due to stubborn pride, Plankton refused to inform their son, Chip. One day, Chip noticed something peculiar, a container labeled 'SENSORY ITEMS' which Karen's handing to Plankton. Chip approached. "Whatcha got?" he asked with a puzzled expression. Karen's screen froze; she hadn't expected this. "It's... it's just a stress reliever for your dad," she said, quickly trying to change the subject. But Chip wasn't easily deterred. Chip grabs a squishy toy, only for Plankton to snatch it right back out of his hand. "Back off!" Plankton yells. Karen sighs. "Plankton, it's time we tell our son about your neurodisability.." Plankton glares at Karen, then at Chip. But their son looks up at his parents. "What's a neurodisability?" Chip asks innocently, his eyes wide with curiosity. Plankton's hand tightens around the squishy toy, feeling its reassuring texture as he contemplates his response. Karen sits down beside Chip, taking a deep breath. "Well, honey," she begins, "Some people's brains work a bit differently than others, and that's ok. Your dad's is one of those brains. It's called autism, and it's a part of what makes hi-" "Autism; like, ret-..." Chip interrupts, using a slur without knowing its weight. The room goes silent. Karen's eyes widen in horror, but before she can correct Chip, Plankton throws the squishy toy across the room. "How dare you?" he roars. "I'm not... I'm not..." his voice trails off, his fists clenched. Karen quickly jumps in. "Chip, that's a bad word," she says firmly. "It's a slur, and it hurts people. Your dad has autism, and that's just a part of who he is, not a bad thing.." Plankton turns to face his son, his voice shaking with anger. "I've spent my whole life dealing with ignorant people like y-you!" he yells, face reddening. "Do you have any idea how much strength it takes to be me every—" Karen intervenes, her voice calm but firm. "Plankton, he didn't know. It's our job to educate and not to sc-" "Get out!" Plankton shouts, pointing to the door, his voice shaking with rage. "I don't want to hear it!" Chip's screen fills with tears. Karen turns to Plankton. "Plankton," she starts, her voice measured. "He's just a kid. He didn't mean to hurt you." But Plankton's anger is rising. "Just a kid? Just a word?" he spits. "It's never just that, Karen! And now, my own son..." his words choke off, and he sits, deflated. Chip looks between his parents, his heart racing. He sniffs. "I don't get it, Mom. Why is it so bad?" He looks at Plankton, who still refuses to meet his gaze. "It's because people use it to make fun of others who are different, sweetie," Karen explains. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his fists clenched tight. "Your father has worked so hard to overcome challenges, and for you to..." Karen can't finish. Chip's eyes fill with tears. "I didn't know, Dad," he whispers. "I'm sorry." Plankton's anger doesn't subside, turning away. "I can't do this right now," he says. Karen nods, understanding. "Chip," she says softly, "Why don't you go to your room and think about what you've learned?" Chip nods and walks away slowly, his screen down. Plankton stays silent, his breaths shallow. Karen sits down beside him again, taking his hand in hers. "You know we didn't mean to upset you," she says. "But we couldn't keep this a secret from him forever." The next day, Karen decided that they all should go to the park a block away. Plankton always loved to swing, and Chip sits in the other swing by his. They both start to swing back and forth as high as they can. Karen watches from the bench. But then some ignorant teens come by, and they decided to blast some obnoxiously loud music. But Plankton's unable to handle it. He puts his hands to his head, letting go of the swing's chains. Panic floods through him as the sensory assault overwhelms his system. Without realizing it, his legs kick out in an instinctive reaction. The swing's chains creak in protest, and then he's airborne, soaring overhead, the sky spinning around him. Chip and Karen watch in horror, unable to reach him in time, as the swing's momentum sent Plankton hurtling. With a sickening crunch, Plankton's body hits the concrete. He cries out, his leg now bent at an unnatural angle. "Dad!" Chip shouts. Karen rushes over to Plankton as Chip slows his swing. The teens look over, then scurry away, their laughter fading. Karen carefully slides her arms under Plankton, cradling him. Chip runs to the car, his mind racing with the urgency of the situation. He flings open the door for his mother, who gently lifts Plankton inside. The pain etched on Plankton's face is a mix of physical agony and emotional distress. Karen knew how an ambulance will stress Plankton out, so she drove the family herself to the nearest sensory friendly hospital. "Hold on, Plankton," Karen whispers, her grip on the steering wheel tight. Chip sits in the back, his eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the engine's hum. Plankton doesn't talk, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. When they arrive at the sensory-friendly hospital, Karen parks the car near the entrance. "Plankton honey, we're gonna get your leg fixed at this hospital. We'll explain your autis–" "HOSPITAL‽" Plankton interrupts. Chip then follows them into the building, going up to the receptionist. "Welcome to the sensory friendly hospital," the lady at the front desk greets them. The receptionist's badge reads 'Ms. Miki'. "Karen, I can't," Plankton whispers. Ms. Miki then approaches them. "Hi; I'm Miki. Can we help you?" Karen nods. "My husband has autism and fell on his leg. He needs a doctor, but please be gentle." Ms. Miki nods with understanding. "We're trained for this, don't worry." Miki turns to Plankton. "Hi, I'm Miki. What's your name?" Plankton's eye darts around. "P-Plankton," he stammers. Miki nods. "Hi, Plankton," Miki says softly. "We need to see how bad your leg is. Would you mind if we take an x-ray?" Karen nods, trying to soothe her husband as she carries him down the hallway. The room is dimly lit and quiet, designed to reduce stimulation for patients like Plankton. The x-ray technician, a man named Gil, greets them warmly. "This is Plankton," Miki tells Gil. "His leg hurts." Gil nods, his face calm. "Let's get you sorted, Mr. Plankton!" Gil leads them into a soothing yellow room, the hum of the x-ray machine barely audible. Plankton's heart races, but he tries to keep it together. The room is designed to be less intimidating, with gentle lighting and a soft blanket waiting for him on the exam table. "Okay, Plankton," Gil says, his tone gentle. "We're going to get a quick picture of your leg, and then we'll know how to help you better. Can you lie down fo—" "KAREN DON'T LET GO OF MY HAND I NEED YOU, PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Plankton interrupts Gil. Karen nods, squeezing his hand tight. "It's okay, babe," she whispers. Gil nods. "She can stay with you throughout your visit no matter what.." Plankton nods as Karen helps him onto the x-ray table. The x-ray machine hums to life. Plankton flinches, his body tense. But Gil moves quickly, finishing the x-ray. "Good," Gil says, his voice soothing. "Now let's see.." The results show a clean break in Plankton's leg. The doctor comes in, a kind-faced octopus named Dr. Hank. "Looks like you'll need surgery, Mr. Plankton," he says. "But don't worry, we—" "Surgery?" Plankton shrieks. The room seems to close in around him. The doctor nods, his tone soft. "We've got a team here that caters to any of your needs. They'll make sure it's as comfortable as possible for you. And Karen can stay throughout the whole entire surgery. I assume this young one here is your son?" Chip nods, his eyes wet with concern. "Yes, he is," Karen says, her voice thick. Gil nods. "Miki, can you take him to the waiting area? Don't worry, you will see each other once we fix up the leg." Ms. Miki leads Chip out of the room, and he reluctantly follows. Karen, carrying Plankton, follows Dr. Hank into the surgery room to discuss the procedure. "The surgery will use a special bone glue," Dr. Hank explains. "It's designed to work with your body's natural healing process without any scarring or stitches. It dissolves as the bone heals. However, you'll be in a cast for six weeks. For the surgery, we'll use inhalational anesthesia. It's a gentle way to put you to sleep so you won't feel a thing. You'll simply breathe in some gas through a mask," he says, holding up a transparent mask with soft padding around the nose and mouth. "It'll help you relax and keep you from feeling any pain before the use of IV. You'll wake up groggy but with a cast; okay?" The room is a calming shade of green, with soft lights. Karen holds Plankton's hand tightly as she puts him onto the surgery bed, equipped with a weighted blanket. The nurses cover him with the blanket. "Ready?" Dr. Hank asks, his hand hovering over the anesthesia mask. Plankton nods. "You're strong, Plankton. You've got this." Karen says to him.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ 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 sounds Plankton makes shift again. "Skrink, skrink." Karen's eyes light up with understanding. "It's his brain's new way of saying 'I'm okay'," she whispers. "It's a 'stim'." Chip looks at his dad, his curiosity piqued. Plankton's antennae wriggle, his eye glazed over. "Skrink, skrink, skrink." The sounds are soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's like he's playing a tune," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "It's his brain's symphony." The room is bathed in the glow of Plankton's stims, his autism's unique melody. "Dad?" Chip asks tentatively, his voice a whisper. Plankton's head tilts slightly, his antennae still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he repeats. It's like he's in a trance, lost in a world only he understands. Plankton's eye flickers. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You can keep making your sounds." And then it happens. Plankton's voice shifts, echoing Karen's words. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide. "Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods. "It's his way of processing," she says. "It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's. "It's when his brain mimics the words he hears to make sense of them," she explains. "It's like when you repeat something until it feels right." Plankton's antennae twitch in time with his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone. Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton," he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm. But Plankton thinks Chip's making fun of him. His antennae shoot straight up, his eye wide with hurt anger at Chip. "It's not a game, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "It's not something to tck tck... to mock!" Karen sighs, knowing this conversation needs to be handled with care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "I just... I thought it would he-" "It's not for you to think about!" Plankton cuts him off. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder, her gaze on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean anything by it," she says calmly. "He just wants to understand and connect." She turns to Chip, her screen filled with compassion. "I know it's hard to see Dad like this," she says. "But remember, his autism is part of him, and we need to respect it. He doesn't like it when you mimic his sounds like that." Chip nods, feeling a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, but he doesn't look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "We're all learning here." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tracing patterns on the blanket. Karen watches. "It's his 'stimming', Chip," she says. "It's his way of self-soothing, and these movements and sounds help him to cope." Chip nods, his eyes still wet. "But why did he get so mad when I do it?" he asks. Karen sighs. "Because it's his own personal language, his way of understanding the world," she explains. "When you address it, he feels like you're invading his space, like you're not taking his feelings seriously. It's something his brain does for himself only." Karen smiles gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Chip's just trying to understand everything. You can keep making your sounds." Chip wants to help, but he doesn't know how. "Just let him be, Chip," Karen says, her voice soothing. Plankton shifts again, his eye teary. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs, echoing Karen's words from earlier. Chip clenches. He didn't mean to upset him, seeing his dad's eye welling up with tears. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You don't have to hide it from us." Plankton's tears spill over, tracing a silent river down his cheek. Karen's eyes never leave his. "You don't have to hide, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here for you." Chip watches. He doesn't know what to do, his mind racing. "Mom," he says, his voice shaking, "What can I do?" Karen turns to him, her expression gentle. "Just be here," she says. "Just listen and learn." Plankton's tears stream down. "It's okay, Plankton," he hears his wife say again. The words echo in his mind, a comforting mantra. "It's okay, Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying to mimic her tone. But it sounds forced, wrong. He swallows hard. "That's right, Plankton," Karen says, smiling. "You're okay. You're safe, Plankton," she repeats. "You're here with us." Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking. "Mom, why is he...?" Karen's eyes are filled with pain. "It's his way of telling us he's okay," she says. "He's using my words because right now, his brain can't find his own." Chip nods, his eyes on his father. Plankton's hand is still moving, tracing the patterns on the blanket. "It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers. Plankton's crying intensifies, his tics becoming more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his antennae flailing. Karen reaches for him, but he flinches away. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We're here." Chip watches, his own screen wet with tears. He's never seen his dad like this before. He feels like an outsider in a conversation he's always been a part of. "You don't have to hide your tears," Karen whispers to Plankton. "We're a family." Plankton's sobs become louder, his tics more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he says, his body convulsing slightly. Karen's hand is firm but gentle on his back, offering silent support. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Let it out." Chip watches. "Why is he...?" his voice trails off. Karen looks at him, her screen full of love. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed, Chip," she whispers. "When he repeats my words, it's his brain trying to find the comfort it needs." Plankton's cries become louder, his tics more erratic. "Tck tck tck," he sobs, his body shaking. Chip feels helpless, his mind racing. He wants to make it stop, but he doesn't know how. "Just be here, buddy," Karen says, her voice calm. "Sometimes, that's all he needs." Plankton's tics morph into full-body shudders, his cries now muffled by the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand still rubbing his back. "We're with you." Chip watches as his father's sobs echo in the room, each one a heartbreaking testament to the weight he carries. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's distress. The words tumble from Plankton's mouth, a mix of Karen's soothing tones and his own raw pain. "It's o-okay, P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes well up too, but she remains steadfast. She's seen this before. "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his body convulsing with each sob. "You don't have t-to tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay," she whispers. "We love you just as you are." Plankton's sobs turn into hiccups, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice mimicking hers. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on Plankton's back, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says. "You're safe here." Plankton's sobs subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's right," she whispers. "Your sounds, your tics, they're part of you." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "But... but why?" he asks. Karen takes a deep breath. "His autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain has its own language, and when he's overwhelmed, it comes out." Plankton's tics become less erratic, his breathing even. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." Karen smiles sadly. "He knows that, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, his brain just needs to speak its own words." Plankton's eye meets his wife's, the panic receding slightly as Chip watches.

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𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 14 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Plankton, are you ok?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice trembling. Plankton blinks slowly, the world swimming into focus. He feels...exposed. Vulnerable. He hates that. But he nods, his voice a whisper. "I-I-I-I…think s-so?" Mr. Krabs looms over them, his expression a mixture of shock and regret. "I didn't know," he says again, his voice cracking. "I had no ide-" "Please" Plankton says, his voice hoarse. He doesn't have the energy to be angry anymore. His body feels like it's made of jelly, and his arm throbs where Mr. Krabs' claw had been. But he understands now. Mr. Krabs is trying, in his own way, to make things right. And maybe, just maybe, Plankton can show his enemy what it means to be an ally. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes shiny. "I promise," he says. "I'll do better. For you, for all of you." Plankton looks up at his enemy. Mr. Krabs looks down at his own hands, now trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his tiny body pushing itself up onto his elbows. "You don't get it," he says, his voice shaking with anger. "You think you can just throw around words like 'respect' and 'understanding' and pretend to care about autism? After all you've done to me?" His words hang in the air like accusations, sharp and painful. Mr. Krabs looks at him, his eyes softening slightly. "Plankton, I-I didn't know," he stammers. "I just...I just want to help. I don't want to fight anymore." But Plankton's not having it. He glares up at him, his tiny fists balled. "Help?" He spits out the word. "You think this is helping? You think excluding me from your 'Autism Awareness' shindig makes you a champion?" His voice is hoarse from the seizure, but the anger in it is clear. "Well you're wrong, Krabs. You're not helping anyone by ignoring me!" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws dropping to his sides. "I-I didn't know," he repeats, his voice now just a whisper. "I didn't know ye were autisti-" But Plankton isn't listening. With a grunt, he pulls himself to his feet, the pain in his arm fading to a dull throb. "You don't know anything," he says, his voice shaking. "You think you can just throw a party and call yourself an ally? It's not about you, Krabs." He turns to leave, his legs unsteady, but his determination firm. He's had enough of the Krusty Krab's insincere attention. He doesn't need his pity or their half-hearted attempts at inclusivity. He just needs to get out of there, away from the prying eyes and the whispers of concern. Walking home, Plankton's mind whirs with thoughts of Mr. Krabs' ignorance and his own fury. He's used to the taunts and the jokes, but this...this was different. This was supposed to be a place where autistic people were celebrated, not a stage for someone to play the hero. The irony isn't lost on him—his enemy, the man who has belittled him for years, now claiming to stand up for his community. When Plankton comes back, Karen greets him as usual. "Hey, Plankton," she says. But her smile falters when she sees his expression. "What happened?" Plankton shakes his head, his eye downcast. "It's...nothing," he mumbles, his voice tight. He can't bring himself to tell her about the seizure, about Mr. Krabs' finding out. But Karen's not so easily fooled. She takes one look at his bandaged arm and the haunted look in his eye and knows something's off. "What happened?" She asks again, her tone gentle but insistent. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice tight. "He...he found out." Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "And?" She prompts gently as he removes his bandages. Plankton's arm is a mess of red marks and bruises, a stark testament to Krabs' mistaken anger. "And he said he's sorry," Plankton says, his voice still tight with emotion. "He said he wants to help." But there's a bitter edge to his words that tells Karen all she needs to know about how Plankton really feels. She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Well, maybe this could be a good thing," she says. "Maybe it'll help him understand. Maybe it'll make things better between you two." But Plankton's not so optimistic. "Or maybe," he says, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Maybe he'll just use it against me." Karen's expression softens, and she reaches out to gently pat his antennae. "Plankton," she says. "You can't control how others react. But you can control how you respond." Plankton sighs, his body slumping into the chair. He knows she's right, but it's hard to let go of the anger. He thinks back to the way Krabs' claws felt on his arm, the way his vision had swirled and his body had betrayed him. He's used to hiding his autism, keeping it a secret from those who wouldn't understand. But now, his deepest, most vulnerable part has been laid bare before his enemy. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Karen," he says, his voice small. "I just...I can't trust him." Karen nods, her gaze understanding. "I get it," she says. "But maybe, just maybe, he's trying to be better." Plankton stays silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. He's not used to this, to feeling so exposed. He's spent his entire life hiding his autism from everyone, especially Krabs. And now, it's out there. His enemy knows his deepest vulnerability. With a sigh, he pushes himself up from the chair and heads to the bedroom, the solace of his small, controlled space. The doors clicks shut behind him, blocking out the sounds of Karen's kitchen and the distant laughter of passing fish. In the quiet, Plankton begins to stim. He rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. The bedroom is a haven, his personal space filled with comforting items that help soothe his senses. He picks up his favorite fidget toy, the tiny plastic pieces clicking together in a rhythm that matches the beating of his heart. The repetitive motion calms him, centers him, as he tries to process the day's events. "Echo...echolal...lal...lal...la," Plankton murmurs to himself, his voice low and soothing. It's a word he heard earlier, a word that now holds a new meaning for him. He rolls it around his mouth, feeling the shape of it, the sound of it. It's a part of him now, a piece of his identity that he's still trying to understand.

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