𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 11 They find an empty corner, away from the chaos. Plankton leans against the wall, his breathing still rapid. "I-I just... wanted to be normal," he says, his voice trembling. "But I can't even sit through this." Karen squeezes his hand. "You are normal, Plankton. Your normal." She wipes his forehead with her hand, her movements gentle. "But Chip..." Plankton's voice trails off, his thoughts racing. "He'll understand," Karen reassures him. "He loves you, just the way you are." They sit in silence in the corner, the buzz of the fair muffled by the closed doors. Plankton nods, his shoulders slumping with fatigue. "Let's just wait here," Karen suggested, her voice gentle. "We'll hear when the winner is announced." He nods. He feels drained, his body heavy. He closes his eye, his breathing evening out as he leans against Karen's shoulder. The coolness of the wall is a comfort, his antennae finally still. He's exhausted, too tired to keep his eye open. Plankton's breathing deepens, his body finally relinquishing to sleep's embrace. Karen feels the weight of his head shift and knows he's asleep, his mouth slightly open, a soft snore escaping, his hands resting quietly on his legs. Her eyes trace his peaceful features, the slight furrow on his brow smoothed out. The science fair continues beyond the doors, but in this quiet corner, Plankton is safe. Karen pulls out her phone, texting Chip where they are whenever the winner has been announced. Plankton's snores are rhythmic, a testament to his exhaustion. Chip's text pings through: "I won." Karen's eyes light up with pride, but she keeps her voice low. "Chip won," she whispers, nudging Plankton gently. His snores don't even hitch, his slumber deep, still slack against Karen's side. She smiles, her eyes misting over. Chip comes out with his first-place ribbon and trophy. "Hey," Chip says. "Uh, Dad; you okay?" Plankton's antennae twitch at the sound, but he doesn't wake as Chip goes to Karen's side. "He's just tired, sweetheart," Karen explains, her voice quiet. "The fair was a bit much for him." Chip nods. He looks at his dad, his heart swelling with love and concern. "Can we wake him up?" He asks, holding his trophy tightly. Karen shakes her head. "Let him sleep," she says. "We'll celebrate when he wakes up. Right now, he needs his rest." Chip nods again, his eyes never leaving his dad's sleeping face. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable. They sit in silence, the only sound being Plankton's steady snores. Chip holds his trophy carefully, the weight of the moment heavy in his hands. He's proud of himself, but there's a hole where his dad's presence should be. Karen's hand squeezes Chip's shoulder. "He'll be so proud when he wakes up," she whispers. Chip nods, his throat tight with emotions. "I know," he murmurs. "Do we go back to the hotel, or stay here in the theater lobby? You're sitting on the ground, so.." Karen looks around, noticing the concerned glances from passersby. "Let's find a quieter spot," she says, gesturing to a bench. They move to the bench, Chip setting his trophy down carefully beside them. Karen slides her arms under Plankton's legs and shoulders, lifting him with a surprising ease. His body is limp, his antennae still, his snores a soft comfort in the silence. The walk to the bench is slow, Karen's steps careful not to jostle him awake. Plankton's head lolls back, his eye still closed, as if the world can't reach him in his sleep. Chip walks alongside, his heart thumping with worry and love. They lay him gently on the bench, Karen adjusting his body so he's comfortable. His snores deepen, his chest rising and falling evenly. Chip sits beside him, his eyes on his dad, his mind racing. "What happens now?" Chip whispers to his mom. "Now, we wait," Karen says, sitting down next to him, her arm around his shoulder. "And we talk." She squeezes him gently. "Do you have any questions about your dad's autism?" Chip nods. "Why does it make him so tired?" He asks, his voice small. "Well," Karen starts, "his brain works differently than ours. It's like his game console is always on the highest setting, and it takes a lot more energy to process everything." "So when he's overwhelmed, his battery runs out faster?" Chip asks, his gaze still on his snoring father. Karen nods. "Exactly. And when that happens, he needs some quiet time to recharge, like a phone plugged in its charger." The bench creaks gently as Karen shifts her weight. "You can ask me any thing you want."