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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 4 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) "Mom, what can I do to help?" Chip's question was sincere, his eyes searching hers for answers. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes welling up with tears. "The best thing you can do," she said, "is to love him just as you always have. And to learn about his autism. That way, when he has these moments, you can help him feel safe." Chip nodded, his mind racing. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Chip thought about his dad's stims, the convulsions, the noises. He felt a sudden desire to understand, to connect with Plankton in a way he never had before. He looked up at Karen. "Can I talk to Dad?" he asked, his voice hopeful. Karen squeezed his hand. "Not yet, sweetie. He needs some space to calm down. But let's go check on him. Together." They approached the closed door. "Plankton?" Karen calls. "Can we come in?" "Yeah fine," Plankton's voice was tired. "Come in." The room was a mess. The pillow lay on the floor, the wall was dented. Plankton was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. Chip's heart raced, his eyes darting to the mess, then to his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "Dad, I—" But Plankton didn't look up. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, his words muffled by his hands. Chip felt his hope shrivel. "But, Dad..." "Just leave me alone," Plankton said, his voice weak. Karen squeezed Chip's hand, giving him a look that told him to give Plankton his space. But Chip couldn't just leave it at that. He had to try. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Dad," he began, his voice quivering with emotion, "I just want to help. I don't know what's happening, but I want to be here for you." Plankton didn't move, his head still in his hands. Chip took a step closer, his heart racing as his hand reached out tentatively. But as soon as his fingertips brushed against his father's shoulder, Plankton flinched away, his whole body stiffening. "Stop," he said sharply. "Don't touch me." Chip's hand hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. He had never felt so rejected by his father. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly. "Remember, dad's senses are really sensitive, especially after a seizure." Chip nodded, his hand falling to his side. He stood there, feeling lost. He didn't know what to do or say. The room was heavy with unspoken words and untouched emotions. Plankton's breath was ragged, his body trembling with the effort of controlling his own stims. "I'm sorry," Chip managed to whisper. "I just don't kno—" But Plankton's voice cut him off, harsh and sharp. "I said, don't touch me!" The pain in his eye was unmistakable. Chip took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to run, to hide, anything. But he knows that wouldn't help. He looked at his mom, his eyes pleading. Karen's expression was filled with understanding, but also with sadness. She knew this was hard for Plankton, but she also knew that pushing him too much right now wouldn't help. "Chip, why don't you go to your room for a bit?" she suggested. "Let Dad have some time to recover." She squeezed his hand gently. "Let's just give him some time. He'll talk when he's ready." Chip goes to his own room. Karen turns to Plankton. "Honey," she says gently, "We gotta explain this to Chip." Plankton's shoulders slumped. "I know," he sighs, his voice filled with resignation. "But I'm not ready to be 'explained' to him." Karen nods, her eyes full of understanding. "But maybe there's a way we can help him feel closer to you without making it about the seizures," she suggests. Plankton looks up, his interest piqued. "How?" Karen's mind races. "How about jigsaw puzzles?" she says. "You know how you are good at them. It can be a fun way to show Chip the analytical logistic side of your autism. That, and it's a good way to bring you together." Plankton considers this. Karen goes to the shelf in the corner of the room, where they keep their puzzles. She picks out one with a picture of Nosferatu. She brings it to Plankton. "This one?" she asks, holding it out. Plankton nods. "Sure," he says, his voice still tight. They bring the puzzle to the living room and spread it out on the coffee table. Karen starts laying out the pieces. Chip comes out of his room to see. Karen motions for Chip to join in. Plankton sits down with a sigh, his eye scanning the pieces. It's a familiar comfort, something that always made sense to him. He starts to pick out the edges, his hands moving with a precision that was second nature to him. Chip watches, fascinated. "You okay, Dad?" Chip asks tentatively. Plankton doesn't look up. "I'm fine," he mumbles, his voice still sharp. "But I'm not going to sit here and explain my entire life to you." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. He just wants to understand. So he picks up a puzzle piece. The three of them sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional clink of puzzle pieces connecting. Chip watches as Plankton's hands move swiftly, placing each piece with precision. He's never seen his dad do this, calculating the puzzle's pattern with ease. Plankton starts to relax, his breathing evening out as his mind focuses on the task. The room feels less claustrophobic, the pressure of their conversation easing slightly as they build something together. Chip's fingers hover over the pieces, uncertain. "Here," Plankton says without looking up, placing a piece in Chip's hand that fits perfectly into the spot he was just eyeing. Karen smiles at this small gesture, hopeful that the puzzle might serve as a bridge between the two. Chip's eyes widen as he fits the piece into place. "How did you know that went there?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Plankton shrugs. "It's just pattern. I find patterns.." He trails off, his hand picking up another piece, his mind working through the puzzle without barely even looking at it. Chip watches, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. "It's like your brain sees things we can't," he murmurs. Plankton ignores this. Chip tries again, his voice soft. "Dad, I just wanna ask you; why do you get so upset when people touch you?" He asks, placing a piece with care. Plankton's hand stops mid-air, a piece of the puzzle hovering. His shoulders tense. "It's not just you," he says, his voice tight. "It's about me." He places the piece down and looks at Chip, his eye full of frustration. "You don't get it; you never will.." Karen's eyes dart between them, her heart racing. "It's okay to not be okay," she says gently. "We're here to teach Chip together." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the puzzle, his thumbs rubbing against his fingers in a repetitive motion—a subtle stim that only Karen notices. "Dad," Chip says softly, picking up another piece, his voice shaking slightly. "It's just that, when you have those moments, I don't know what to do." Plankton's hand pauses, his breath catching. "What moments!" he asks, his tone defensive. "The moments when you shake and make noises," Chip explains, his voice barely above a whisper. "The moments when you're upset or scared." Karen's heart clenched at her son's brave attempt to connect. "Dad, I just don't get how you can do something as complex as a puzzle, but yet you can't even make eye contact.." Plankton's hand clenched around the puzzle piece, his knuckles turning white. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he chucked the puzzle piece onto the coffee table, and then marched to the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 1 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton is autistic. His wife, Karen, is supportive and she understands his struggles and his sensory sensitivities. They kept his autism secret from their son Chip. But one day, Chip comes home from camp earlier than either of his parents expected, for the traffic was better than usual. And Chip notices something he's never seen. At least, not with his dad. Chip peaks in his parents bedroom to find Plankton on his bed, on his side. He seemed to be shaking. So Chip inched closer, unsure of what he's seeing. His father's body jerked in quick, rhythmic spasms, his eye rolled bac̶k, and his mouth's parted open, drool trickling out the side. Paпic strikes Chip. He's never seen anything like this! The room is eerily silent except for the quıet, muffled sounds of his father's shaking and his own racing heart. The scene seems frozen in time, and Chip's mind races with questions and fear. What's wrong with Dad? He cautiously approaches the bed, his hands now shaking as much as his father's body. Plankton's eyelid flutters rapidly in synchronization with the clonic jerks. "Dad; what are you doing?" But Plankton didn't respond. Chip went to find his mom. Karen was gardening in the back when he found her. "Mom," Chip yelled, "Come quick!" His voice was trembling with fear. Karen rushed inside, leavıng her garden behind. She saw her husband, and knew immediately what was happening; that Plankton was okay, just having a seızure that wasn't dangerous, but can look scary. She knew Chip's unaware of Plankton's autism. "Chip," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "it's okay. Your dad is having a type of spasm called absentia epileptica. It's part of a condıtıon he has, which's autism." Chip looked at her in confusion. Karen took a deep breath, kneeling down to his level. "You know how sometimes you get so into a video game that you don't notice me calling you?" Chip nodded slowly. "It's kind of like that for your dad, but with his body. It's like his brain goes to a different pla͡ce for a little bit." Chip studied his mother's screen, searching for the truth. Her eyes were calm, her voice soothing. "But why is he, his body doing that?" he asked, his voice still quaking. "It's like when you sneeze, honey," Karen explained. "You don't plan to, it just happens. It's a sudden, quick change in your body that you can't control." She took his hand, leading him to the bedside. Plankton's seızure is subsiding. And then Plankton's eye flitted open, unfocused. He was disoriented and groaned, his gaze wandering around the room. This was the postictal phase, where he was emerging. Karen knew it was crucial to keep him calm. "Look," she said softly, smiling at Chip, "Your dad will be okay. This happens sometimes. It's like when you come out of a deep słeep and don't know where you are for a moment." Chip watched as Plankton's eye gradually focused, landing on Karen's screen. He blinked rapidly, his gaze shifting to Chip's. Recognition took over his features, but confusion lingered. Plankton's voice was slurred, his words difficult to piece together. "Ch... Chip?" Karen nodded reassuringly. "Yes, it's Chip. You had a small seızure, but it's over now. You're okay." Plankton's hand shot up to his face, touching it as if to confirm his reality. His eye searched his son's for an answer. Karen sat on the bed, taking Plankton's hand in hers. "It's part of his autism, sweetie. Some times his brain needs to reboot." She offered a comforting smile as Plankton's gaze cleared somewhat, and he looked at Karen with a mix of relief and embarrassment as he wiped up the drool. But then, Plankton's face contorted in anger. He jerked his hand away from Karen's grasp, his eye snapping to Chip. "What are YOU doing here?" he snapped, his voice harsher than Chip had ever heard it before. It was like his father was a different person, someone he didn't know. Chip took a step back, his heart pouncing in his chest. "I just found you..." he started to explain, but his voıce trailed off. Plankton pushes himself up to a sitting position, his eye wide with anger. "Why are you spying on me?" he accused, his voice rising with every syllable. Karen stepped in quickly, trying to defuse the tension. "Chip wasn't spying, honey. He just came home early and found you like this." But Plankton's anger didn't ease. "Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded, looking at Chip accusingly. Chip felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his screen tight. "I... I didn't know what was happening," he stammered. "I was scared." Plankton's face softened slightly, but the anger was still palpable. "How much of my secret's out?" he said, more to Karen than to Chip. Karen sighed, stroking his arm gently. "Chip, repeat to your dad what I taught you." Plankton's jaw tightened, but he looked at his son. Chip took a deep breath. "Mom told me," Chip managed to say, "Mom says that your autistic seizures are because of, uh... Mom said you are..." His voice cracked. "I learned that you're only a little bit ret-..." The room went still as a pin drop. Karen's screen flushed red with anger and sadness. Plankton's eye widened, his body stiffened. "Chip," Karen whispered, "that's not a word we use." But Chip, confused by his father's reaction, just stared, his screen brimming with tears. "How could you say that?" Plankton's voice was low, the paın in his eye was impossible to miss. "You don't understand," Chip sobbed, "I di-" "Understand?" Plankton interrupted, his voice rising. "I'm not some- thing to be understood; I'm your father!" He slams his fists into the mattress. Karen's voice was steady as she spoke, "Plankton, it's ok. We can explain this to Chip." She turned to her son, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's ok to not know everything right now. We'll talk about it. But that word is not nice. It can hurt̸ people." Plankton's anger was palpable, but he swallowed it down, his body slumping in defeat. He looked away from Chip, his gaze firmly planted on the floor. "Just go," he said weakly, "Get outta my fac͘e." The rejection hït Chip like a ton of bricks. Karen's heart broke seeing the hurt̸ on her son's face. She knew Plankton didn't mean to, that his words were just a reflex, a shield against the fear of being misunderstood. "Chip," she said gently, "your dad needs a moment. So you give him some privacy." Chip took a step back off the bed as Plankton begins to mumble. "Do not know what who's talking about.." Karen knew Plankton's self-talk was a type of stim, that he didn't like for it to be interrupted or to be commented on. But she realized that Chip doesn't know this. She turns to Plankton. "Honey," she said softly, "Chip is scared. He's never seen you like this before." Plankton's body tensed. Karen knew he has to decompress. And sure enough, the vocal stimming began again. Plankton's voice was heard. "No scared, is seen before," he says. Chip watched, his eyes wide and filled with fresh confusion. And yet Karen knew that Plankton's repetitive stimming was his way of processing all the overwhelm. Chip had never heard his dad make these sounds. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, "Dad's just talking to himself to calm down. It's part of his autism." But Chip's curiosity was piqued. He couldn't help but ask, "But why is he–" "CHIP," Plankton's voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. "We SAID I don't like it when YOU interrogate me!" He turned away, his body language a clear signal for space. Chip felt his chest tighten. He wants to understand, but his father's reaction was unsettling.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 12 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton is still in the corner, his body huddled small, his arms wrapped around his knees. He's still facing the wall, yet his antennae twitched at the sound of their approach. Karen's eyes fill with concern as she sees her husband's form, so vulnerable. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Can Chip come in to talk?" Plankton's antennae twitch again, and then, very slowly, one hand moves from his knee to form a sharp, clear 'no' in the air. It's a gesture that Chip doesn't know, but Karen does. It's a sign Plankton learned from Sign Language, a way to express his needs without voicing words. Chip looks at his mom, confusion etched on his face. "What's that mean?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at her son's innocence. "It means your dad needs more time," she explains gently. "He's signing 'no' in Sign Language. It's a short way of saying he's not ready for company." Chip nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's silent form. He's never seen signs before. This is new to him. But, his dad's not deaf or hard of hearing, right? Karen sees his confusion, so she decides it's time to explain. "For him, it's not about hearing," she says. "He's learned a few signs to communicate when his words fail him." Chip's eyes widen in realization. "But why does he do that?" he whispers. "Because sometimes, sweetie, his brain gets really, really tired," Karen says, her voice soothing. "And when it's overstimulated, trying to talk can be really hard. So he can use his hands instead. But he only knows a few signs, not full sentences." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still on Plankton. "But... but what signs does he know? Can you teach me what signs he might use?" Karen nods, her voice gentle. "Of course, honey. He knows the alphabet but I'll teach you how to say yes and no.." They go and sit on the floor outside the bedroom door, Karen teaching Chip the few signs that Plankton had learned. "This one's for 'yes,'" she says, moving her hand up and down. "And this one's for 'no,'" she continues, two of her fingers tapping the thumb. Chip mimics her movements, his eyes focused, determined. He practices these signs, his hands a bit shaky at first. But as they go through them, his movements become more confident. Karen's heart swells with pride. Despite the situation, she's grateful for this moment—a chance for her son to learn and grow, to understand his father a little more. After a few minutes of practice, Karen suggests they try again. Chip nods, his eyes determined. Together, they enter the room. Plankton hasn't moved. "Dad?" Chip says softly. Plankton's antennae flick towards them, but he doesn't react. "I know you're upset," Chip continues, his voice trembling. "But I just want to tell you... I love you." Plankton's body stiffens. He's listening, Karen knows, but his response is slow to come. "And I know you love me too," Chip adds, his voice getting stronger. "But sometimes, it's hard to tell. Can you... can you just tell me if you're okay?" He pauses, his hand hovering. Plankton's antennae twitch again. This time, he forms a different sign—one that Chip doesn't recognize. It's a quick movement of his hand out to the side, then back to his chest, his fingers splayed. Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "He's asking for space," she whispers to Chip. "That's his way of saying 'I need to be alone right now.' It's okay," she says, her voice soft. "He just needs some time alone." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's form. He raises his hand, his fingers mimicking the sign his dad had just made. "Space," he asks, his voice uncertain. Karen nods, her eyes filled with relief. "Good job," she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch again, and this time, he slowly turns his head to look at them. His eye met Chip's, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something—understanding, maybe? Chip's heart jumps. "I know you're okay," Chip says, his voice hopeful. Plankton's hand moves again, forming the 'Space' sign. It's clear, deliberate. Chip's heart sinks. Karen sees the confusion on Chip's face and steps in. "Chip," she says gently, "he's asking for space. That's his way of saying 'I need to be alone right now.'" She pauses, swallowing hard. "It's okay. We'll give him that." Chip nods, his hand dropping to his side. He feels a mix of disappointment and relief. "Okay," he whispers, his voice small. "Good night." Karen gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before Chip left their room. Karen turns back to Plankton. "I'm sorry for earlier." Karen says. "I know that must've been traumatizing for you. I wasn't thinking clearly and I hurt you. I just felt the need to protect. But I didn't do so in a way that made you feel safe. I should've known better. I'm sorry." Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching. He moves his hand again, a new sign. It's not one Karen taught Chip, but she knows it instantly—it's 'I understand.' Her heart clenches at the sight of his attempt to comfort her, when he's the one in pain. She nods. "Thank you," she whispers. "Want me to tuck you in?" With a quick, precise movement, Plankton signs 'Without Touching'. Karen nods, understanding his need for his personal space, even in this intimate moment. She watches as he shifts, his eye never leaving hers. She respects his boundaries, even though it's hard not to want to comfort him with a physical touch. Then, with the same deliberate care, he forms the letters 'T', 'R', 'Y', 'I', 'N', 'G'. It's not a full sign, but it's enough. 'Trying to forgive', he's signing. Karen's eyes fill with tears. Her heart swells with love for him, for his willingness to communicate despite the barriers that autism can put between them. She mirrors the sign back to him, showing she understands. The room remains quiet, their silent conversation speaking volumes. Plankton's body finally relaxes a little more, his shoulders dropping. He signs 'Good night' with his hand, his movements precise and clear. Karen mirrors his gesture, her own hand shaking slightly. "Good night," she says, her voice barely audible.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 9 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Plankton's eye darts to the side. "Hi Chip," Karen says, her voice steady. "Your dad's still just... feeling a little overwhelmed." Chip nods, his expression serious. Chip sits on the bed, not touching his father, giving him the space he needs. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice soft. "You don't have to talk to—" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharper than a knife. "Don't tell me what I have to do!" he snaps, his body jolting with anger. "I'm not your baby!" His eye is wild. Karen's eyes widen. "Plankton, please," she starts, but he interrupts again. "I can't do this," he says, his voice breaking. "I can't be Chip's dad like this." His fist slams into the mattress. Chip's heart is racing, his eyes glued to his father's distressed form. He wants to comfort him, but he doesn't know how. "Dad," he begins, his voice tentative. "You're more than en-" "DON'T!" Plankton roars, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't tell me what I am or what I'm not!" His voice shakes with emotion. Chip's eyes fill with hurt. "But Dad, I'm just-" Plankton's hands tense up, silencing his son. "I know what you're doing," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "And it's not helping." His body is coiled tight, as if he's ready to snap. The room is thick with the tension of unspoken words, the weight of emotions that neither of them can fully express. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his throat tightening. "But I just want to help," he whispers. Plankton's gaze remains on the floor, his body vibrating with repressed anger at Chip. Plankton's hand shoots out, his grip tight on Chip's arm. "You want to help?" he sneers. "Then leave me be!" His voice is a whisper, but the rage is unmistakable. Chip's eyes widen in shock at the physical contact, his heart pounding in his chest. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "It's okay to not be okay." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. He's lost in his own world of pain and frustration. "I don't need you to fix me!" he yells, pushing Chip away as he let go. The sudden movement sends the boy stumbling backward, tears streaming down his face. Karen stands, her hand on her chest, her eyes wide. "Plankton," she says firmly, "That's enough." Her voice cuts through the tension like a knife, but Plankton's eye stays on Chip, his gaze still furious. Chip slumps to the floor, his cheeks wet with tears. "I just wanted to be there for you," he chokes out, his voice breaking. "But you're always pushing me away.." Plankton's face contorts in a mix of anger and sorrow. He knows his son means well, but his intentions feel like a threat to his very existence. "I don't need your pity," he says, his voice low and hard. "I don't need you to act superior just ‘cause I'm not like everyone else!" His fists clench, his body trembling with the effort of holding his emotions in check. Chip's eyes are wide, his mind racing to understand. "Dad, I don't think I'm better," he says, his voice shaking. "I just want to help you." But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. He's too lost in his own mind, too overwhelmed by his own pain. Karen steps forward, her eyes full of concern. "Plankton," she says. "You're scaring Chip." Plankton's eye flicks to his son, who's cowering against the wall. Yet her eyes are filled with sorrow. "You're my Plankton." She moves closer, her hand outstretched. "And Chip's dad." Plankton's body tenses, his grip on the bedpost tight. For a moment, it seems like he's going to pull away, but then something in him gives. His hand relaxes, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just... I just can't... " And then, without warning, his body starts to shake. It's not the full-blown seizure Chip's seen before, but a smaller, quieter version—a pseudoseizure, his mind's desperate attempt to cope. Karen's eyes widen in recognition, knowing the signs all too well. She moves quickly to his side, her hand hovering over his, unsure if he'll accept the comfort. Chip's eyes are glued to his dad, his heart racing. But Plankton doesn't acknowledge him, his eye unfocused, lost in his own inner turmoil. Karen's hand settles on his arm, her grip firm but gentle. The tremors increase, his body jerking slightly. Karen's hand moves to his back, rubbing slow circles. "Shh," she soothes, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay, baby." Plankton's breathing is quick. Chip feels helpless, watching his hero. The pseudoseizure passed, leaving Plankton limp, his breathing ragged. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness but determination. "Honey? It's ok, Plankton; the worst is over.." Plankton blinks, his gaze unfocused as he looks at Karen, then at Chip, who's still on the floor, tears drying on his cheeks. "What... what's happen'd?" he asks, his voice weak. "You had a pseudoseizure," Karen says, her voice calm and soothing. "It's okay, now." She helps him sit up, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen his father's meltdowns before, yet this... this is new to him. Plankton looks at Chip, his eye filled with something that Chip can't quite read. It's not anger anymore, but it's not affection either. It's a mix of sadness and regret. "Dad," Chip says, his voice quiet. "I just want to be there for you." But Plankton simply shakes his head. "I know who's it talking about," Plankton says in self-talk, as he faces away. Karen looks at her son, her heart heavy. She knows this is hard for Chip, who's always been eager to please and understand. "Give your dad some space," she whispers, her eyes sad. "He's not mad at you."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 10 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) But before she can finish, Plankton turns, his face a mask of anger. "But I AM mad!" he yells, his voice echoing through their bedroom. It's a stark contrast to the man Chip knows—his father, the clever, resourceful, and always-in-control Plankton. Plankton stands, his body shaking with the force of his fury. He jumps off the bed, his legs wobbly. He stumbles towards the bedside table, his hands grabbing the leg so as to make it topple over. Chip gasps in horror. Plankton then goes to get a book, and he rips out the pages. He throws it down in front of Chip, purposefully missing him. Karen has seen Plankton's meltdowns before, though not with their son. Seeing Chip's upset form is new, unbearable. She has to do something; anything! Karen's instincts kick in, and she darts forward, desperate to stop Plankton's outburst. She wraps her arms around him from behind, body tense. "Plankton, stop," she whispers, her voice calm yet firm. He struggles against her, his body rigid. "Chip, go to your room while I handle this. NOW." Chip hesitates, his eyes wide with fear, but he does as he's told. He backs out of the room, his heart pounding. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Karen to deal with her husband. Plankton's limbs flail as he tries to break free. But Karen holds him firmly, her arms wrapped tightly around his body, to where Plankton can't move. She can feel his heaving breaths coming quickly. "Let me go," he whispers, his voice strained. But she doesn't seem to hear. If anything, she holds on tighter, her heart breaking. She's too upset, Chip's tears fresh in her memory. Plankton's eye is wide, his breathing ragged. He struggles harder, his body jerking as he tries to pull away from Karen's embrace. But she's too strong, her arms unyielding around him. Karen's grip didn't loosen; it only tightens, her fingers digging into his skin. He tries to push himself away. His body thrashed. But Karen's thinking about the look on Chip's face. She felt the need to protect him. Which makes her grip even more firm. Plankton feels trapped, his heart racing. The sensation of being held is overwhelming, his skin crawling. The panic rises in his chest. He can't think, can't breathe. Karen's only trying to calm Plankton down, but it's only making it worse. His body arches backward, his legs kicking out, trying to find purchase, trying to get away from the pressure. The painful cries finally manage to escape his throat, piercing the silence of their room. Only then does Karen realize her mistake. Her restraint isn't helping; it's hurting. She loosens her grip, her eyes filled with regret as noticed his distress. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's already slipped from her arms, his body moving in a desperate escape. He backs into the corner, his tears falling. Karen's heart clenches as she sees the fear in his eye as he shrinks into himself. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry.." Plankton's back is to the wall, his body tight as a coiled spring. The fear in his gaze is unmistakable—he feels threatened, trapped. Yet Karen approaches him, her steps slow and careful. "Plankton," she says softly, stretching out a hand. "It's okay." But Plankton doesn't move from the floor. He's too overwhelmed by his emotions to trust her. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches his struggle. In that moment, Karen realizes the impact of her actions. She knew and understood it intellectually, but her heart aches to see him suffer. She wants to help, but fears she's only making it worse. She swallows hard, her hand still hovering. "Plankton.." Plankton flinches at the sound of her voice, his eye flicking to hers. The fear in his gaze is like a knife to her soul. "Please," she whispers, "I'm here. It's okay." Her hand falls to her side, open and non-threatening. But Plankton's already shook his head, his body curling in on itself. The tears are flowing freely now, his face twisted in anguish. "I just want it to stop," he whispers in self-talk, a vocal stim, his voice breaking. "I just... just want it to stop..." Karen watches from a distance, her own eyes brimming with tears. She understands his need for solitude, though her heart aches for him. She wants to rush over and hold him, tell him everything's okay, but she knows that could only make it worse. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bed, her hand twitching with the desire to reach out. "Take your time," she says softly. "I'm here for yo-" But Plankton's already moving away, his body tight as he retreats to his own corner of their room. Karen's heart squeezes in her chest, watching her husband's painful withdrawal. He curls into a ball on his side, his back to her. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the words feeling so small and inadequate. But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his own world of overwhelming emotion as he stays on the floor. Karen's heart is in her throat as she watches his retreat, her body frozen in place. She understands his need for solitude, for space to unravel his tangled thoughts and feelings. But it's hard not to want to rush over and take away his pain. Her hand hovers in the air, but she doesn't reach out. Instead, she lets him have the distance he needs. With a sigh, she stands, her legs shaky. She needs to check on Chip. She crosses the hallway, each footfall echoing through the quiet house. When she opens the door to his room, she finds him sitting on his bed.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 13 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Karen awoke the next day This Plankton might still be in such delicate state after her mistake. He might primarily use Sign Language after such scary incidents. Plankton still slept in the bed beside hers. She knew better than to touch or disturb him. He'd always been a light sleeper. The sun peeked through their window, casting a soft glow across the room. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself as Plankton awoke. She knew not to force anything. Plankton sat up. He spotted Karen, her eyes filled with remorse. With slow, deliberate movements, he signed 'Morning'. She nodded, her heart aching. "Morning," she murmured, keeping her voice soft. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he signed, 'Tired. Skin crawls. Sad'. Karen's stomach twisted. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking. Plankton then started monotonous humming, a vocal stim. Chip, having heard the whispers, tiptoed into the room. He opened the door and came in. "Hi there," Chip says tentatively. Karen smiled. "Good morning," she managed, her voice just above a whisper. Plankton's humming paused. Plankton looked up, his eye focusing on Chip. He signed 'Morning' with his hand, his movements slightly quicker than before. It's a good sign, Karen thought. Maybe he's not as overwhelmed as yesterday; though he's not ready to talk yet, she knew. Chip took a deep breath, his own hand moving to mimic Plankton's greeting. The gesture was clumsy, but earnest. "How are you?" he says, his voice a whisper. Plankton's expression remained neutral, but his antennae twitched—a sign of acknowledgment. Karen watched, hopeful. "Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice careful. But Plankton didn't know how to sign for the jigsaw puzzle of Nosferatu. "I'll work on the puzzle," Plankton managed to say to them; the first thing he spoke today. So they follow Plankton to the coffee table where the puzzle still was. But without asking, Chip picks up a piece. Plankton signed the word quickly, 'Alone'. It was a sharp, clear gesture. Karen's heart clenched. It was a simple sign, but it was a word of meaning. She nodded, understanding. "Okay," she murmured. "We'll give you some space." Chip looked at his dad, his eyes wide with sadness and confusion. Chip watched as his mom left the room, closing the door with a soft click. He felt his own sadness and frustration build up. He wanted to help, but he wasn't sure how. He took a deep breath and sat down beside Plankton. "Dad," he said, his voice small. "I know you'd like space, but I just want to be here with you." Plankton's antennae twitched again, and he formed the 'Alone' sign, his eye pleading. Chip's heart broke, but he nodded. He knew he couldn't force his dad to interact, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he sat quietly beside him, placing a handful of puzzle pieces on the table. "I'll stay here," Chip offered, "but I won't talk or touch.." Chip picked up a piece, concentrating on the image of Nosferatu's face. His dad liked puzzles—they were predictable, with a clear beginning, middle, and end. No uncertainties. No ambiguities to figure out. He glanced at his dad. Plankton's antennae twitched again. His hand moved rapidly, forming the letters 'G', 'O', 'A', 'W', 'A', 'Y'. Chip's heart sank. He'd never seen that sign before. He didn't know what sign that spells. "What does that mean?" Chip asked, his voice quivering. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. He signs 'Leave' to Chip, who still cannot interpret what he's signing, his hand reaching out to his dad. But Plankton jerks away, his eye wide. "I don't understand," Chip whispers, his throat tight. Plankton's hand shakes, and he signs spelling, 'Distance'. But Chip can't translate that either! Chip's mind raced as he tried to piece together these words his dad is signing to him. He wanted to help, but he was afraid of making things worse. "Okay," he whispers, moving his hand back to his lap. "I'll stay here, but I won't talk." Plankton's antennae twitched again, and he formed the 'Space' sign. It was a clear message. Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. "Oh," he said, his voice understanding in realization. "Space‽ I'll leave you be.." Chip then went to see his mom in the bedroom she shared with his dad. Karen looked up as he came in. "Mom, I wanna learn the signs Dad uses. Can you teach me more?" Her eyes filled with love, she nodded. "Of course, sweetheart." Chip sat on her bed. "What words does he know, and how does he sign them? I wanna be able to understand.." Karen took a deep breath, then began to teach him. Plankton had learned to sign a few key words and phrases over the years, words like "love," "sorry," "tired," and "happy." Chip's determination to bridge the gap grew with each of those signs. Chip watched intently as his mother's hands formed shapes in the air, each one a silent expression of a feeling or a need. It was like learning a secret code, a language only shared between his dad and her. But as they practiced, Chip couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. "Why did my dad need this, Mom? Why couldn't he just talk? He can talk and hear..." Karen sighs, her eyes soft. "It's not that simple, honey," she says, her voice filled with a gentle resignation. "Your dad's brain processes things differently. Sometimes forming words can be too much, and it might be easier for him to use signs than to speak." Chip nods. "But why'd he start using them last night when he talked earlier? Is he gonna be okay?" Karen nods. "Yes. He's only doing it because yesterday, he was pretty shaken up. Do you remember how I told you to leave the room, and I'd held him?" Karen asks. Chip nods, so Karen continued. "Seeing you upset broke my heart, and in my panic I held your dad. You saw me grab him as you left. He'd never actually hurt you, yet I wanted to fix the situation. I restrained him to where he couldn't move. That and I held him to tight." Karen wipes a tear away. Chip looks at her with a questioning gaze. "That was wrong of me," Karen says, her voice cracking. "It was too much for him. He doesn't like to be touched like that, especially when he's already overwhelmed." Chip's heart squeezes at the thought of his dad being scared. "But Mom, what does this have to—" "Let me finish," Karen interrupts gently. "When autistics get really upset or overstimulated, such things can trigger what's basically akin to literal trauma. It's that intense, Chip. And so, he's reacting now in a way that feels safest to him. By using signs, he's controlling what he can, and it's a way to tell us things without overloading himself with spoken words. But he can still talk, and he'll get back to doing so when he feels like it." Chip nods, his eyes still on his mother's hands. "I want to understand him," he says, his voice firm. "I don't want him to feel alone." Karen smiles, her eyes shimmering. "That's the best thing you can do, honey," she says. "Love and understand. But he might need more space right now. You can come with me to check on him.."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 8 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Chip can feel the awkwardness emanating from his dad, his social cues askew. It's strange, seeing this powerful man so lost in the complexities of a simple interaction. "I... I'm sorry," Plankton finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip's heart squeezes. "For what?" he asks, his tone gentle. Plankton's gaze drops to the floor. "For yesterday," he murmurs. "For the... meltdowns." He can't bring himself to meet Chip's eyes, his hands twitching nervously. Chip nods, his eyes filling with understanding. "It's okay, Dad," he says. "You have your moments. We all do." Plankton's head looks up, his eye wide. "It's okay to be scared," Chip tells him. "It's part of loving someone.." Plankton turns away. "S'not scared; that's not playing I tell you, not my point." He was engaging in self-talk, Chip realized; Plankton's stim. Chip gets out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate not to startle his dad. He approaches his father, his eyes filled with empathy. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "It's okay to feel scared or sad or any of the things that come with being upset. It's okay to not have the wor—" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp, "No, it's not okay!" His voice is harsh. "It's never okay!" Chip's stomach drops, his words forgotten. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice small. "I just wa-" "Don't," Plankton snaps, his tone hard. "Don't sorry me." He turns away, his body shaking with frustration. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his throat tight. "I'm just trying to understand," he whispers. Plankton's eye flips back to him, his gaze intense. "Then understand this," he says, his voice sharp. "I. Don't. Need. YOU. I Don't." The words are a slap in the face, a rejection of Chip's attempt to help. "But Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "You-" "NO!" Plankton's outburst silences him. "I don't need my son to parent me! And I don't need your pity or your explanations! So just leave me alone!" "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice cracking. "I'm just trying to help." Plankton's shoulders tense, his body language shouting his frustration. "I don't want your help!" he spat out. "I don't need it!" The force behind his words is like a punch to Chip's gut. He's never seen his father so defensive, so desperate to maintain his independence. "But you were upset," Chip insists, his eyes welling with tears. "I just wanted to make it be—" "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice booms. Chip's eyes widen in shock. "I can handle myself," Plankton continues, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't need you to make it better. I need you to let me be!" With those words, he spins on his heel and exits out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Chip watches his retreat, his heart pounding in his chest. He's never seen his dad so defensive, so unwilling to accept help or comfort. The silence left behind is deafening, each tick of the clock a reminder of the distance that's grown between them. Chip feels the weight of his dad's rejection, but he also understands the need for space just comes with autism. He wipes his eyes, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could have done differently, what he can do to bridge this gap. Karen sits up in bed as her husband enters their shared room angrily. "Plankton, whaa-" He cuts her off with a wave of his hand, his body still vibrating with frustration. "I can't do this," he says, his voice shaking. "I can't be a dad like this." He collapses on his bed, his back to her. Karen's eyes are filled with worry, but she knows better than to push him right now. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just... I can't control it." Karen moves closer, her hand reaching out tentatively. "You don't have to control everything," she says, her tone gentle. "You're doing the best you can." But Plankton's already gone, retreating into his own mind. His eye is squeezed shut, his body tightening into a tiny ball. Karen watches his retreat, her heart breaking. She knows this isn't personal, that his autism often leads to moments like these, where he needs to shut the world out to survive. Chip then comes in the room. He only wanted to explain himself. "Dad, I—" Plankton's body tenses at his voice. "Go, away." His tone is cold, his eye still pressed into the pillow. Karen sighs, giving Chip a sad look. "Just let him to process," she whispers, squeezing his shoulder. Reluctantly, Chip backs out of the room, his heart heavy. He understands his dad's need for solitude, but it doesn't make the rejection any easier to swallow. He sits outside their door, his ear pressed against the wood, listening for any sign that Plankton might need him. Karen turns to Plankton, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and sadness. "It's hard, isn't it?" she says, her voice gentle. "You're just overwhelmed. Yesterday was a lot." Plankton nods, his body still tense. "Can't... can't do it," he whispers. "Can't force Chip to understand." Karen nods. "I know, sweetie." Her hand reaches out to his shoulder, but he flinches away, retreating further into his blankets. "Chip won't get it," he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. "He never will." The room feels smaller, the weight of Plankton's emotions pressing in on Karen. She knows his frustration isn't just about yesterday. It's about his entire life, about the challenges he faces every day, about feeling like he's always one step behind in a world that's too loud, too bright, too confusing. Chip's footsteps retreat down the hallway, his sobs barely audible. Karen's heart aches for her son, who's trying so hard to understand his father's autism. She knows how much Plankton loves Chip, but sometimes, that love is lost in the upset of his own mind. She sits on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on his back. "You're so loved," she says, her voice low. She's seen this before, his retreat into his own mind when the world becomes too much. But Plankton doesn't answer. Karen knows better than to force her way in, so she waits. She knew that patience is key to unlocking the door of his solitude. But then, she hears it—a stim she knew; Plankton talking to himself. "Why can't he just leave me be," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Why do you have to try and fix me.." Karen's heart breaks a little more. She knows that's not what Chip's trying to do, but she also knows that autism can make even the best intentions feel like an as*ault. She remains silent, giving him the space he needs to process his thoughts. "It's like I'm not the boss or in trouble," Plankton said tensely, his voice quiet. "And everyone's trying to pop in." Karen's eyes fill with tears. She knows that feeling, the overwhelming sensation of the world pushing in, trying to change who you are. She reaches out her hand, this time more tentatively. "You don't have to be anything but you," she whispers. Plankton's body stiffens at her touch, but he doesn't pull away. "Chip loves you, just as you are." He turns to face her, his eye glinting with anger. "But I'm not enough," he says, his voice tight. "I'm not normal." Karen's heart clenches at his words. "Normal is a setting on a dryer," she replies, her tone firm. "You're more than enough." Then Chip comes back in.