𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 5
Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous
https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all
Read the Autism And All one first!
Karen sits on the bed, her
presence a comforting
weight. "Would you like
me to stay?" she asks, her
voice gentle. Plankton nods, his
body still tight with pain.
He closes his eye, his mind
racing with the discomfort.
He tries to focus on his
breath, in and out, in and out.
But the throb in his mouth
is a constant reminder
of agony that threatens
to overwhelm.
Then, Plankton starts to
talk to himself to self-soothe.
"It's safe," he whispers.
"Can water's just fine."
Karen watches him,
knowing this is a way
of regaining control,
his mind trying to find
peace in order to rest.
She knows that the pain, the
sensory assault, the
confusion—it's all too much.
But she also knows that he
has the willpower to push through.
"Was do it" Plankton
whispers to himself.
"I told him but he didn't
listen," he murmurs, his
thoughts racing with the
memory of the fidget toy.
"It's my fault," he adds. "Not
my place to correct him, do
not touch." His words are
a jumble of regret and
frustration.
"It's okay," Plankton says
again. "The healing safe.
It's just a feeling." He repeats
this mantra, his breath
evening out. Karen can see the
tension in his shoulders
easing, his grip on the
ice pack loosening as his
body relaxes.
"You're doing great,"
Karen whispers. "Just rest."
And with that, Plankton's
body gives in to the call
of sleep, his breaths trailing
off into soft snores. Karen
watches her husband
with a mix of love
and sadness.
Chip lingers by the door,
his curiosity piqued.
He wonders if
his dad's autism is the
reason behind it.
With tentative steps, Chip
enters the room. Karen takes
his hand in hers, and he follows
her out of the room and in
to the hallway.
"Mom," he starts, his voice
barely a whisper. "Why is Dad
autistic?" Karen looks
down at him, her expression
thoughtful.
"Well, Chip," she says, her voice
soft. "Your dad was born that
way." Chip nods. "But w---"
"Autism is something that
develops in the brain before
birth," Karen continues.
"It's like how some people are
right-handed and others are
left-handed. It's just how
his brain is wired." Chip looks
at her with a frown. "But why
did Dad...?" "Why did it happen?"
Karen finishes his question.
She takes a deep breath,
preparing to explain. "You see,
sometimes during pregnancy
or childbirth, something
small can change you. When
his mom was giving birth, his
brain might have gotten a little
squeezed and then not enough oxygen.
It's just the way his brain grew
because of that, that's all."
Chip nods slowly, trying to
understand. "So as dad was
being born..."
"Yes," Karen says, her voice
soothing. "His brain was forming
its connections, and that
little squeeze changed the way
his brain makes those connections.
It's like if you're building a
Lego castle and one piece gets
bent. It doesn't mean the castle
can't be amazing, it's just a
tiny part of it that's a bit
different." Chip looks up at
his mom, his eyes wide. "But
does that mean I could be like
Dad if I squ--"
"No, Chip," she says, cutting
off his words gently. "It's not
that simple. Autism is just
nothing you can catch or
change, and it's not something
you need to be afraid of."
Chip nods, his gaze still
fixed on her. "But why does
he get so upset sometimes?"
Karen sighs. "Because the
world can be a very overwhelming
place for him, Chip. His brain
picks up on every little thing—
sounds, smells, sights—it's all so
intense. And sometimes,
those things get too much, and
his brain can't keep up. It's like
when you're playing a video
game and the screen is flashing
too fast—it's hard to focus."
"But why does he get mad?"
Chip persists. Karen kneels down
to look him in the eye. "It's not
that he's mad, honey. It's just
his way of dealing with it.
Imagine if you had a headache
and someone was shining a
bright light in your face—you'd
want them to stop, right? It's like
that, but with anything."
Chip nods, understanding
dawning. "So, when the fidget
was making noise, it was like a
headache for Dad?" Karen smiles.
"Exactly. And when he tells
you something is too much,
it's not that he's upset with
you—it's his brain telling him
he needs a break."
Plankton's snores from the
bedroom remind them of the
present. "Let's let Dad rest,"
Karen says, steering Chip towards
his own room. "But what about
his teeth?" Chip asks, his voice
laced with worry. Karen's
smile is reassuring. "They'll
feel better soon, and we'll
have to be extra gentle with him.
No loud noises, no surprises.
Ok?" Chip nods.
In the quiet of the
living room, Karen and Chip
begin to set up a recovery
area for Plankton—a space
free from the chaos that
could easily overwhelm
his fragile state. They
gather his favorite pillows, a
soft blanket, and dim the lights.
Chip wants to make sure his
dad feels safe.
On the coffee table, they lay
out a tray with a glass of
water. Karen knows
that it's important not to
startle Plankton, that he
might need help getting up
without disturbing his mouth.
"Let's go to see him." Karen
says.
As they enter the
bedroom, Plankton's snores
have subsided into a gentle
rhythm. Chip tiptoes over,
his eyes wide. He's seen
his dad tired before, but
this is different. He looks
smaller, somehow, more
vulnerable. Gently, he touches
his dad's arm..
Plankton's eye snaps open,
his body jerking upright. The
movement sends a shock
of pain through his mouth. "Agh!"
he yelps, his hands shooting
up to clutch his cheeks.
Chip jumps back, his eyes
wide with alarm. "Dad!" He
says loudly. But now Plankton's
even more overwhelmed, and
Karen notices his somewhat
distant gaze.
"Chip, remember what we talked
about," Karen whispers. "Use a
quiet voice." Chip nods and
speaks more softly. "Dad, are you
ok?" Plankton blinks, his mind racing.
"Dad?" Chip tries again, his voice
barely a murmur. Plankton's
breath hitches. "It's me,
Chip! You're home. You had
surgery. Remembe---"
But Plankton's eye darts around
the room, his mind a
swirling vortex of pain and
disorientation as Chip talks
to fast. Karen
quickly moves to his side,
her touch grounding him. "It's ok,"
she whispers. "You're safe.
You're home." And then, he
starts to talk to himself.
"No...no...no...yes...yes...yes,"
he murmurs. Karen knows
that he's retreated due to
the overwhelm. It's happened
before, where he's seemingly
on autopilot.
"Water's okay, can't
talk right now," Plankton
whispers to the empty
space. His eye darts
back to Chip, then to the
ceiling. "No, no, no," he
says again, his voice
getting quieter.
Karen's heart aches,
seeing her husband
so lost in his own
head. She's seen this
before—his autism taking
control when the world
was too much to handle.
Chip however doesn't
really understand.
"Dad?" Chip whispers,
his voice shaky. Plankton
doesn't respond, his
eye locked on the ceiling
fan spinning above them.
"It's ok," Karen says,
her voice a soft reminder.
"Sometimes his brain
is on backup." She strokes
his arm gently, knowing
his semiconscious state isn't
abnormal for him, as
Plankton's monologue
continues. "Need to
count...one...two...
three..." His voice trails off.
Chip watches.
"Is he ok?" He asks,
his voice trembling. Karen
nods. "This is his way of
dealing with things,"
she whispers. "Let's just
give him some time."
Plankton's eye darts
between them, his mouth
forming words without
thought. "Red...blue...green,"
he says, as if naming
colors he's seeing in the
air. "Big...small...far...
near." Karen knows he's
not really seeing anything,
his mind a kaleidoscope of
sensory input that's difficult
to process.
"Why?" Plankton asks no
one in particular. "Will it
be the one? It's just a
feeling," he murmurs, trying
to convince himself. Karen
understands it's his brain's
attempt to organize the
overwhelming stimuli, but Chip
looks on with a mix of
concern and confusion.
"It's ok," Chip whispers,
his hand hovering over his
dad's. He wants to help,
but doesn't know how. Karen
smiles at him, nodding.
"You can talk to him,
buddy. Just keep it low."
Chip nods and sits
on the edge of the bed.
"Hey Dad," Chip says,
his voice barely above a
whisper. Plankton's eye
flips over to him, but he
doesn't seem to see him.
"It's me, Chip. We're here,"
Chip says, trying to
provide comfort.