𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 12
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ
ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ
ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ
Karen moves quickly,
interposing herself between
Chip and Plankton. "No, love,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"Yo--" But Plankton's fury is
unchecked.
The book misses Chip by
inches, the wall bearing
the brunt of the impact.
Karen's eyes are wide with
fear, her screens flickering.
"PLANKTON!" she yells, her
hands up in a protective stance.
Plankton's chest heaves,
his antennae trembling.
Chip's eyes darting around the room.
He's never seen his dad so out
of control. "Dad," he says again,
his voice barely audible. "Please."
But Plankton's rage is a
freight train, unstoppable.
Karen's eyes are on Chip,
silently willing him to stay calm.
Her screen flickers rapidly,
reflecting the chaos. "Remember,
his brain is overwhelmed," she
whispers, trying to be heard
over Plankton's roars. "Just stay
back, let him..."
But it's too late. Plankton's
hand swings around, sending
a lamp smashing to the ground.
Glass shatters, piercing the
silence like shards of ice.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest.
He's seen his dad's temper before,
but this...this is something else.
Karen's eyes are wide with
panic. She steps closer, her
hands up to shield Chip. "Plankton,
sweetie," she says, her voice
shaking. "Please, it's okay.
Chip didn't mean to-"
But Plankton's fists clench,
his antennae quivering. "NO!"
He grabs another object, a
picture frame, and hurls it
at the wall. It explodes
into splinters, the shards
of glass glinting in the
morning light. "NO TOUCH!"
The wall is now a canvas
of shattered memories. Chip
sees himself in the pieces,
his heart breaking for the
father he thought he knew.
Karen's screens flash with
despair. "Plankton," she says,
her voice strained. "Please,
this isn't helping."
But Plankton's anger is a
whirlwind, uncontrollable. He
grabs a pillow, ripping it
open. Feathers fly through
the air. Chip doesn't
know what to do. Then
he wonders if something
in that sensory box can help..
With shaking hands, Chip
reaches for the box. "Dad,"
he whispers, "Lo---"
But Plankton's even
angrier, Chip's simple
attempt to reconcile
adding fuel to the fire.
Plankton's eye snaps to
his son, his antennae
quivering with rage.
He lunges forward,
his hand swiping through
the air, aiming for
Chip's hand. Chip flinches,
his heart racing. He's never
seen his dad so violent.
He tries to back away,
his eyes wide with fear.
"Dad, no!" Chip yells,
his voice cracking. "I'm
sorry!" He holds up
his hands in surrender.
Karen is there in an
instant, her body a
shield. "Chip," she says,
her voice firm. "Please,
head to your room."
Chip's eyes fill with
tears as he nods,
backing away. He doesn't
understand what's happening,
but he knows it's not his dad.
This is the monster that
sometimes lives in Plankton's
head, the one that comes
out when the world gets
too much.
Plankton's fist
slams into the wall.
The plaster cracks.
Karen flinches.
Her screen is a
swirl of fear and love.
"Plankton," she says,
her voice steady.
Her eyes never leave
his wild one. "Remember,
breathe." She holds up
a hand, her palm out.
He stares at her,
his chest heaving.
The room is a mess
of shattered things.
Slowly, she steps
towards him, her movements
calm and measured. "E-easy,
breathe with me," she whispers.
Her screen pulsed with
reassurance, a gentle
reminder of the world
that exists beyond
his anger. "Just br-"
But Plankton's rage
doesn't abate. His hand
slams into the wall
again. "Remember, love,"
she says, her voice strained,
"breathe." But the words
fall on deaf antennae.
He doesn't hear
the calming words, doesn't
see the love in her eyes.
All he sees is the
invasion of his space,
his personal sanctum
violated.
The house feels too small,
the air too thick. Chip's
sobs echo through the
hallway as he retreats
to the safety of his room.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton, her fear
for her son warring with
the fear for her husband.
He's not seeing her, not
really. His brain is in
overdrive, interpreting every
move as a potential threat.
Karen's voice is a distant
hum, her screens a blur of
colors and shapes. She tries
again, her voice softer now.
"Plankton, love, breathe." But
the words don't penetrate the
fortress of his anger.
"Plankton," she gasps, her
hands up to protect herself.
But he's not looking at her.
He's looking through her.
The room spins around her,
the walls closing in.
The anger in Plankton's eye
is a live wire. She tries to talk
again, but her words are
swallowed by the maelstrom.
"PLANKTON!" she screams,
her voice cracking.
He doesn't hear her.
Doesn't see her. He's
lost in a world of rage,
his antennae quivering.
Her screens flash with
despair as she realizes
this is a battle she can't
win with words alone.
Her hands drop to her side.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
a silent plea for understanding.
Her eyes are wet with
unshed tears.
Her love is a wall she'll
defend to her last breath.
She moves closer, her hand
outstretched. "Plankton,"
she says softly, "I'm here."
Her eyes are on his,
trying to break through
the anger.
"Feel the floor," she
instructs, her voice calm.
"Feel the ground beneath
you. I'm he--"
But Plankton swings again. Karen
dodges. "Plankton," she says,
her voice shaking, "remember
your stims. Use the--"
He cuts her off with
a snarl. "MINE!" His hand
slams into the dresser,
drawers flying open.
Karen tries again,
her voice softer.
"Plankton, love, use your
stims." Her eyes dart around
the room, searching
for something to help,
some way to reach him
or to redirect..
Her screen flashes with
despair as she realizes
everything has failed.
The fidgets had even failed.
Karen reaches into the
sensory drawer to get
the oral needleless
syringe to administer the
prescribed relaxant for hopelessly
bad moments like this.
With trembling hands,
she prepares the dose.
The sedative is a last
resort, but she can't
bear to see him like
this any longer. Karen
steps closer.
"Plankton," she says softly,
her voice a lifeline in the
storm of his anger. "Look
at me."
He turns, his antennae
quivering with fury. But
the moment he sees the
syringe, something shifts.
A flicker of recognition,
a spark of understanding
as she brings the syringe
to his mouth, the plunger
ready to deliver the calm.
With a gentle touch,
she presses the needleless
syringe to his lips. "Shh,"
she whispers. "It's ok."
His antennae droop as he
understands. He opens his
mouth, letting her push
the plunger. The liquid
slides down his throat.
Plankton's body relaxes
instantly, the fight leaving
his eye. He slumps
forward, the anger draining
from his limbs. Karen
catches him, her arms
a soft embrace around
his shoulders.
"It's ok," she whispers,
guiding Plankton back to
his bed. "You're ok."
The sedative works quickly,
his breaths becoming deep
and even. His antennae
still slightly, his body
going limp. The sedative took hold,
and Plankton's body goes slack
in her arms. She carefully
lowers him onto the bed,
his eye closed.
This is not the first time
she's had to do this, but it
doesn't make it any easier.
Her screens flicker with
guilt. She's failed to
keep the peace, to
prevent this outburst.
The medicine has been
prescribed by a sensory
friendly therapist for
using in times of great
distress. Karen and
Plankton had agreed on it
as the therapist decided
with them to observe how
it worked. So they'd stay
at the office as it was
administered as per
Plankton's approval, and
observed him the whole
time, even after he awoke.
Besides that day, and today,
they've used it only two
other times. Any of the
tiredness/forgetfulness
is normal, and he might
be out of it for the rest of
the day, Karen knew.
His antennas lay still on the
pillow, no longer quivering. His
breaths were deep and even,
eye closed. Karen watched
over him, her own eyes
brimming with tears of relief
and love as she finished cleaning
up the aftermath of his anger.
Plankton's hand lay open
on the bed, the plushie
now forgotten. Karen still
could hear Chip's quiet sniffles.
She pushed open the door
to Chip's room. He was
curled up on his bed,
his face buried in his
arms, his shoulders shaking
with sobs. The sight of him,
so small and lost,
was a knife to her core.
"Chip," she says softly,
her voice a balm on
his raw nerves. "It's okay."
He looks up, his screen
swollen and red.
Karen sits beside him,
wrapping her arms around him.
"Dad's okay," she whispers.
"He just got overwhelmed."
Chip nods, his body tense.
"It's not his fault,"
she continues. "Sometimes
his brain gets too much
information at once."
He sniffles, his body slowly
unwinding. "We'll get
through this," she says. "We're
a team, remember?"
Chip nods, his tears
slowing. "I love him,"
he whispers, his voice
trembling with emotion.
"But I'm scared. Is he still
mad?" "No, sweetie," she says,
wiping a tear from Chip's screen.
"The anger is gone now. He's
still in the bedroom..." "I wanna
see him." Chip interrupts.
They tiptoe into Plankton's
room. He's lying there, his
body sprawled out
on the bed. His antennae are
still, his breaths deep.
The sedative has done its work.
Karen watches as Chip approaches
his dad. "Dad?"
There's no response.
Plankton's eye remains
closed, he doesn't stir.
"Dad?" His hand hovers
over Plankton's shoulder.
"He'll be out for a while."
Karen explains. "He had a
bad episode," she says.
"We got some medicine,
and the medicine makes him
sleep." Chip looks up at her
reflecting confusion and
fear. "Is he ok?"
Karen nods. "He'll be ok,
Chip. The medicine helps him
calm down." But Chip can't
help but feel guilty.
He's seen his dad like
this before, but never so
severe.