𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 17
Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous
https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all
Read the Autism And All one first!
"I-I just want to understand,"
Krabs says, his voice
quavering. "I've never...I mean, I
thought you were just being...you
know, you." He fumbles for
words, feeling the weight of
his ignorance. "But now I see
you're more than just a nuisance."
But Plankton doesn't
react, lost in his sensory
cocoon.
Karen watches the
interaction with a sad smile.
"Plankton, Krabs is trying
to reach out to you," she
says gently. "He wants to be
a part of your world."
Plankton's grip on the octopus
doesn't loosen, but his eye
moves from the toy to
Krabs, then back again. He's
used to being misunderstood,
his autism often a source of
frustration and isolation. But
now, here's his enemy,
trying to understand?
Krabs clears his throat,
his eyes searching Plankton's
face for any sign of
acknowledgment. "What...what
do you say when you repeat
those words?" He asks, his voice
careful, tentative. "Is there
a pattern, or...?" He's
desperate for a clue, a way to
enter Plankton's world.
Plankton's eye narrows, his
body tensing. "It's not for
you," he murmurs, his voice
barely above a whisper.
He clutches the octopus
even tighter, as if it's the only
thing keeping him tethered to
his own reality.
Krabs leans back, his
claws clutching at his chest.
"I just want to help," he says,
his voice earnest. "I've hurt
you so many times, and I
don't want to do it again."
Plankton's gaze remains on
his octopus, but his
posture relaxes slightly. It's
clear he hears Krabs, even
if he doesn't respond. Karen
smiles softly, recognizing the
sincerity in Krabs' voice.
It's a start, a tentative
step towards understanding.
Mr. Krabs watches him, his
claws still hovering over the
sensory box.
"Plankton," he starts, his voice
soft and cautious. "I know I've
been a...well, not a good
friend. But I want to be better."
He selects a fidget spinner
from the box, twirling it slowly.
"Can you tell me what this does?"
But Plankton doesn't answer.
"I don't mean to pry," he says,
his voice sincere. "But I
can't help but wonder, Plankton.
What's it like?" He twirls
the fidget spinner again,
his gaze never leaving Plankton.
"To be...different?"
Plankton's eye flickers to
Krabs, his expression
unreadable. For a moment,
it seems like he might speak. But
then he shakes his head, his
words lost in the maelstrom
of his thoughts. "Echo...echolal...
lal...la..."
Krabs sets the fidget
spinner down, his heart
sinking. He doesn't know
what he's doing, doesn't know
how to bridge this gap. But
he's determined to try. "What
about the noises you make?" He
asks, his voice gentle. "They're
not just sounds, are th-"
But Plankton cuts him off, his
voice sharp. "It's not for you to
use or to understand." There's a
challenge in his tone, a
barrier that Krabs feels
he can't cross. He pauses,
his gaze shifting to Karen.
Her eyes are understanding,
but firm. "Let him be, Krabs,"
she says. "This is his way of
coping. It's not for us to
interrupt."
Krabs nods, his claws
dropping to his sides. "I just
want to help," he murmurs, his
voice low. "To be there fo—"
But Plankton's gaze is still
on the octopus, his voice
distant. "It's not for you to
understand," he says, his
tone final. "It's mine."
Krabs' eyes fill with a
newfound respect. He's always
been so focused on his own
gain, on his own needs, that
he's never truly considered
Plankton's perspective. "I'm sorry,"
he whispers, his voice
hoarse. "I didn't mean to..."
He trails off, not knowing what to say.
Karen nods, her hand
resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's
ok," she says, her voice a
soothing balm. "We're all
learning."
Krabs sighs, his
eyes never leaving
Plankton's distant
gaze, when Plankton
starts to vocally stim.
"Hmms.." "What's that
you're doing?" Krabs
interrupts. Karen's eyes
widen, and she quickly
intervenes. "It's Plankton's
way of self-regulating. It's
important for him to do
this without interruptions. His
stims are personal, and it's not
our place to question them," Karen
explains, her voice firm yet
understanding. Krabs nods,
his eyes still on Plankton's
fidgeting fingers.
"I just want to...connect," he
whispers, his voice filled with
longing. Karen nods, her expression
softening. "I know, but when he's
like this, it's best to let him
be." She looks at Krabs, her
eyes filled with understanding.
"But there are other ways to
connect, if you're truly willing
to listen."
Krabs leans in, his eyes
bright with curiosity. Plankton's
eye droops. "Just...be...quiet."
Krabs nods, his claws
still. The room is a cocoon of
silence, save for the distant
hum of Bikini Bottom. Plankton's
hands still, and Karen knows he's
getting exhausted.
Plankton's head leans into her
side, his antennae drooping. "I'm
tired," he murmurs, his voice a
tiny echo of its usual pitch.
Karen wraps her arm around him,
his body fitting into the
comfortable curve of her embrace.
"It's ok," she whispers,
stroking his back.
Plankton's eyelid flutters
closed, his breathing deepening
into the rhythm of sleep. His
body relaxes against hers,
his trust in her unspoken but
palpable. She's his safe
haven, the one who gets him in
a way no one else does.
Karen presses a gentle kiss
to his forehead. His grip on the
octopus loosens, the plush
tentacles now lying limp in
his hand.
Krabs watches, his
heart aching for the enemy
he's come to care for. He
can't help but feel like he's
intruding on a sacred
moment, one that's been
building for years of missed
understandings and hurtful
words.
As Plankton's breathing
deepens into sleep, Karen
whispers to Krabs, "You've
tried to connect today.
That's more than he's ever had
from anyone outside this
family."
Krabs nods, his gaze
still on the sleeping
Plankton. "But I want to do
more," he insists. "I want
to be...I don't know, a...friend?"
Karen looks at him,
surprise and hope mingling in
her expression. "That's a
big step, Krabs," she says.
"But if you're really
willing to learn, to be
patient and respectful, then
maybe we can start there."
Krabs nods, his heart
swelling with a newfound
determination. "I'll do
anything," he says.
Karen smiles, her screen
shining with gratitude. "Then
listen," she says, her voice
barely a whisper. "Plankton's
autism isn't a puzzle to
solve or a challenge to
overcome. It's just part of
who he is." She strokes
Plankton's antennae gently. "And
his stims, his words—they're
his way of saying 'I'm here,
and I need you to be here with
me.'"
Krabs nods, his
understanding growing. He
watches as Karen carefully
moves Plankton's head to his pillow,
his body now fully relaxed in
sleep as she tucks him in. The
plush octopus is still in
his hand. "Just be present,"
she repeats. "Learn to listen
without judgment, to see his
world without trying to
change it." Krabs nods, his
expression earnest. It's a
concept that seems so simple,
yet so profound. He's always
been about the endgame,
the victory. But here, in this
small, dimly-lit room, he sees
the true prize: connection.
Krabs watches as Karen pulls
the covers up to Plankton's chin,
his eye still closed as he
snuggles into the bed.
Krabs' mind races with
thoughts. Autistic Plankton. It's
a revelation that shakes him
to his very core, challenging
every assumption he's ever had
about his enemy. He's not just
a nuisance anymore; he's a
friend in pain, trying to navigate
a world that doesn't always
make sense.
He looks at Plankton's sleeping
form, the soft rise and fall of
his chest, and feels a pang of
regret for all the times he's
laughed at or dismissed his
behaviors. "I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice barely audible. "I
never knew." Plankton's only response
is a soft snore, oblivious to
the monumental shift happening
in the room.
Krabs sits back in the chair,
his thoughts racing. How many
times has he misunderstood,
how many jokes at Plankton's
expense were at the cost of his
pain? It's a stark contrast
to the loud, chaotic world of
the Krusty Krab.
He watches the rise and fall of
Plankton's chest, the soft
snores that punctuate the silence.
There's a peace to him, a
vulnerability that he's never
seen before. It's humbling,
frightening even, to think
about the depth of
emotions and experiences that
Plankton has kept hidden beneath
his bravado.
Krabs' gaze moves to
Karen, who's sitting on the
edge of the bed, her hand
resting on Plankton's. Her
expression is a mix of love
and protectiveness, a fierce
motherly instinct that makes
his own heart ache.
He clears his throat, his
claws awkwardly fidgeting. "What
about the seizures?" He asks,
his voice hushed. "What can I do
if he has one?" Karen looks
at him, her eyes filled with
appreciation. "You've already
done the most important
thing," she says, her voice
soothing. "You've recognized
his needs and are willing
to learn." Krabs nods, his mind
whirling with questions. He's
never felt so out of his depth,
but the desire to be there for
Plankton is stronger than any
treasure he's ever pursued. He
watches the soft rise and fall
of Plankton's chest, his
snores a comforting
background to their hushed
conversation.
Karen reaches out, her
hand gently covering Krabs'
claw. "If he has a seizure,
stay calm," she instructs. "Make
sure he's safe,
nothing around to hurt him.
And talk to him softly, let him
know you're there."
Krabs nods, his gaze
never leaving Plankton. He
doesn't know what it's like to
navigate a world where even
the most mundane experiences
can be overwhelming, where
words can be a shield and a
prison. But he wants to know.
He wants to be a person who
can offer comfort, who can
make Plankton feel less alone.