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