๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ค ๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ซ๐ฃ pt. 6
Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous
https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all
Read the Autism And All one first!
Plankton's mouth moves, but
the words come out as a jumble.
"Purple...dog...car...
no, not a car," he says, his
expression vacant. Chip
swallows hard, not knowing
how to respond to the
senseless words.
Karen watches from the
sidelines, her eyes filled with
understanding and love.
This is her Planktonโher
quirky, lovable husband,
whose brain operates on a
different frequency. She
sees the fear in Chip's screen
and knows he's scared,
but she also knows that
understanding is key.
"It's ok, Dad,"
Chip whispers,
his voice trembling.
Plankton's hands move
erratically, as if trying to
capture invisible
objects. "Yellow...box...
closed...open," he mumbles.
Chip listens, his heart
racing. "Dad, can you
hear me?" he whispers.
Plankton's hand darts out,
flailing through the air.
"Butterfly," he says,
his voice a mix of
wonder and frustration.
"There are no butterflies
here," Chip says. Karen smiles
reassuringly. "It's ok.
Let's just be with him."
Plankton's words continue.
"Plankton," Plankton murmurs, "the
world is spinningโno, it's
just me spinning." He laughs,
his eye unfocused. Chip
swallows a lump in his throat.
"Dad," Chip whispers, "are you
seeing things?" Karen sighs,
knowing this is a way his
brain copes with pain and
overstimulation. "Sometimes
his thoughts come out all
mixed up," she says, her voice
a gentle explanation. "It's like
his brain's way of telling
stories when it's overwhelmed."
"Ball...bounce...high,"
Plankton murmurs, his hand
mimicking the action of throwing
an invisible object. "No, Dad,"
Chip says, trying to keep his voice
soothing. "No bouncing here."
He looks to Karen for guidance.
"It's alright," she says, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's. "Just
talk to him calmly. It's his way
of making sense of things."
Chip nods, his voice barely
above a breath. "Ball," he repeats
back to his father, trying to
enter his world. Plankton's
eye snaps to him, a spark of
recognition lighting his gaze.
"Yes," he murmurs. "Ball...bounce."
Karen watches them, her
heart swelling with pride.
Chip is learning, adapting.
He's becoming a bridge
between the worlds of the
neurotypical and neurodivergent.
"Red ball," Plankton says,
his hand rising and falling
as if tossing a non-existent
sphere. "No, blue ball," he
corrects, the words tumbling
out in a rush.
Chip nods, playing along.
"You're playing catch, Dad?"
he asks, his voice softer
now. Plankton's gaze flickers
to him, confused.
"Catch," he whispers, his hand
moving in slow arcs. "But it's
not a ball," Chip says,
his voice filled with gentle
persuasion. "It's just a game
you're playing in your head.."
Plankton's hand stops,
his gaze locking onto Chip, a hint
of irritation flitting across his
features. "What?" Plankton asks,
his voice disoriented as his
surroundings finally come back
to him.
Chip swallows, unsure of
what to say. He wants to help,
but feels frustrated by his
dad's behavior. "You know,
Dad, when you talk like that,
it's hard to understand," he says,
his voice carrying a touch of
exasperation. "You're not
really playing catch, are you?"
Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his movements stilling. "It's not
real to anyone else!" Chip exclaims,
his voice louder than he
intended. Karen gives him a
sharp look, a reminder to keep
his voice down.
"Chip," she says, her tone a
mixture of warning and
patience. "You know his
autism makes things
different for him." But Chip's
thinking of the fidget toy,
of the way his dad snatched
it from him. He feels a
surge of anger, a feeling
he's not used to having towards
his dad.
"I know, but why does he have
to be like this?" Chip asks,
his voice a mix of frustration
and hurt. "Why can't he just
be normal?" Karen's gaze
softens. "Chip, everyone's
normal is different. Your
dad's brain just works in a
unique way. It's not wrong,
just di-"
"But it's annoying!" Chip
interrupts, his voice
cracking. "Everything's
always about his needs!"
Plankton's hand, which had
been still, starts to twitch
again. Karen sighs. "It's not
about needs, it's about
his comfort, Chip. And
right now, he--"
"But what about my comfort?"
Chip retorts, his voice
loud in the quiet room. "What
about when he yells or throws
things or gets upset because of
tiny stuff?" He's close to tears,
his emotions a tangled knot. "Dad,
everything's not about you,"
he says, not meaning to sound
harsh. But the words hang
in the air like accusations. "Everyone
has to deal with things," he
continues. "Why can't you? You don't
really have it that bad. Do you honestly
think your wife, my mother, actually
enjoys all of this? I can't even play with
my friends because you get too
overwhelmed! And for what? Because
someone might laugh too loud or because
the TV's on too high? Do you know how
embarrassing it is to have to leave
because you can't handle a science fair?"
Karen's face falls. She's
heard Chip's frustrations before,
but never so raw and out in
the open. Plankton's eye
darts around the room, his
mind racing to understand.
He's missed the context, but
the anger in Chip's voice is clear.
"Chip," she starts, her voice
steady. "Your dad's brain is just
wired differently. It's not his
fault." But Chip's on a roll.
"I know, I know," he says, his
frustration mounting. "But it's like
he doesn't even try to get
better. Why can't he just
ignore it like everyone else? Why
can't we take him to a doctor
who can fix him?"
Plankton's hand stutters to a
stop, his gaze focusing on Chip
with a mix of hurt and confusion.
"Fix me?" he repeats, his voice
tiny. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," Chip says, his
shoulders slumping. "Just...
make it so you're not always in
pain or scared or...weird." He
can't look at his dad, his eyes
burning with unshed tears. "Living
like this, with all your autistic
stuff, it's just..." He trails off,
his voice cracking. "It's not
worth it."
Plankton's hand starts to
shake. "W-what?" He asks, his
voice shaky. Karen's heart
breaks for him, for the hurt
that's clearly etched on his
face. "Chip," she starts, but
his words cut her off.
"It's like you don't even
see us," Chip says, his voice
filled with pain. "You're in
your own world, and we're just
here, trying to figure out
how to help you." Plankton's
expression is a mask of
confusion and sadness.
"Did my mom marry you before
or after she found out you're
autistic?" Chip asks, his voice
sharp with accusation.
Karen's eyes widen in shock.
"Chip!" She says, her voice
firm. "That's not how we talk
about it. And I knew before.."
But Chip's hurt, has turned to
anger, and he's not listening.
"But it's true!" Chip insists,
his voice rising. "You always
have to be in charge, Dad,
always have to have it your
way. It's like you don't even
see us!" Plankton's face
pales, the words stinging like
bees. "Chip, please," Karen
interjects, her voice pleading.
But Chip can't stop, the
frustration of years boiling
over. "Why can't you just
be like everyone else? Why do
you always have to be so
difficult?" Plankton's hand
drops to his side, his eye
filling with sadness. "I'm
sorโ"
Karen steps in, her voice
firm. "Chip, that's enough. Your
dad is doing his best." But
Chip's anger is like a storm,
unyielding. "Best? What about
our best? What about us? It's
always about you, Dad!" Plankton's
face contorts, the pain in
his heart as sharp as the
pain in his mouth. "Dad, we don't
need you," Chip says, his
words a knife to Plankton's soul.
"Chip," Karen says, her voice
sharp. "You need to go to your
room. Now." She points to the
door, her eyes filled with a
mixture of anger and sadness.
Chip's shoulders slump, but
he doesn't argue, retreating to
his room. Plankton's gaze
follows him, his mind reeling.
He's heard the frustration before,
but never so bluntly. Karen sighs,
exhaustion etching lines on
her face. "I know it's hard,
babe," she says, stroking Plankton's
swollen cheek. "But Chip's just trying
to underst--"
But Plankton shakes his head,
his voice a whisper. "No, no.
He's right," he says, his
eye brimming with
unshed tears. "I'm the one who's
always in the way." He pulls
his hand away, his gaze
dropping to his lap.
Karen's eyes are filled
with a mix of anger and
despair. "Don't say that,"
she whispers fiercely. "You're not
a burden." But Plankton's
thoughts are racing, his stims
abandoned. "Look at what
I've done," he says, his voice
breaking. "I've made you leave
things, I've made him hate me."
Karen's grip on his hand
tightens. "He doesn't hate you,"
she insists, her voice firm.