JUST A TOUCH i (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ "You know, I've never seen a sunset quite like this," Karen said, her screen glued to the horizon. Her husband, Plankton, nodded absentmindedly. He was too focused on tightening the bolts on the railing of their Chum Bucket home. As the sun dipped, Plankton's wrench slipped, striking him on the head. With a sharp clang and a muted cry, he staggered back, his eye glazed over with surprise and pain as he falls to the ground, landing on his head with a thud. Karen's hand flew to her screen, stifling a scream as she raced towards him. Plankton's body was eerily still. Her eyes filled with fear and love, she knelt beside him, his head cradled in her slender hands. "Plankton," she whispered urgently, "are you okay?" There was no response, not even a twitch of his antennae. His eye remained closed. "Plankton!" she shouted, louder this time, her voice cracking with concern. The sound of his name echoed through their silent abode. "Wake up, please," she pleaded, tears threatening to spill. The setting sun cast long shadows over his motionless body, the once bright hues of their underwater home now overshadowed by a dark sense of dread. With trembling hands, she checked for a pulse, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating. Relief flooded through her, but she knew she had to act quickly. "I have to get him to a hospital," she thought, her mind racing. Karen carefully scooped Plankton into her arms and went with determination to the Bikini Bottom Hospital. The nurse, a stern-faced starfish, took one look at the unconscious Plankton and ushered them straight through to an examination room, Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tight. The doctor, a squid with a comforting smile, took over, his tentacles moving swiftly over Plankton's tiny frame. "Ma'am, we need to check his head for any damage," he said, gently patting her hand. Karen nodded, swiping at her eyes with the back of her arm. The doctor led them to a room filled with high-tech equipment that whirred and glowed. He placed Plankton on a shiny, cold table. The machines beeped and hummed as they searched for any signs of trauma. Karen held her breath, watching the squid doctor's face for any hint of what he might find. The doctor's tentacles danced over a console, reading the results. Finally, he turned to Karen. "Ma'am, it appears your husband has sustained an irreversible brain condition from his fall," he said softly. Karen's grip tightened on Plankton's hand. "But it's not all bad," he quickly added. "The injury has led to the development of Autism in his brain. The condition's called Acquired Autism." Her eyes widened. "What does that mean for him?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. The doctor's smile was warm, his tentacles still. "It means his brain will process things differently. It could enhance his cognitive abilities in certain areas, but it may also present challenges in others." The news hit Karen like a tidal wave. Autism. A word she had heard before, but never thought would be a part of their lives. "How will this change him?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper. The doctor took a deep breath and began to explain. "Plankton may exhibit behaviors that are different from before, such as repetitive actions or heightened sensitivity to stimuli. His social interactions might be affected as well. But, on the positive side, we've seen patients with Acquired Autism develop extraordinary talents in areas like memory or problem- solving." Karen nodded, trying to absorb the information. The doctor's tentacles curled around a clipboard, jotting down notes. "He can go home tonight, and, he'll be able to adapt to his new reality with your patience and love. You may need to accommodate for his comfort, there's no treatment or cure. You can leave whenever he wakes up shortly after we assess and answer any questions." Karen nods and leaned over Plankton, stroking his cheek. "We'll get through this," she whispered. "Together." As the doctor sat by them, Karen was overwhelmed by a flurry of questions and fears. How would Plankton be different? Would he still love her? Would he remember their life together? The quiet beeps of the hospital machines were a stark reminder of the new reality they faced. The doctor's gentle explanation was a beacon of hope in the storm of uncertainty. Plankton might see the world in a new light, his mind unlocking puzzles and patterns that had eluded him before. But the thought of her husband, the man she had spent her life with, changing so fundamentally... As the doctor finished up, Plankton's single eye fluttered open, focusing on her screen. Karen leaped as she saw the spark of recognition. "Karen?" he said, his voice faint but clear. Her heart soared with relief. "Yes, Plankton, it's me," she said, her voice choked with emotion. But as she watched him closely, she noticed something different. His gaze was intense, his movements precise and calculated. He took in every detail of the room, his eye darting around quickly, absorbing everything. His voice, when he spoke again, had a new rhythm to it, almost as if he was reciting a script from memory. "Where?" he asked, the words clipped and quick. Karen took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're in the hospital, Plankton," she said softly. "You had an accident. You hit your head and it changed your brain." The doctor cleared his throat, sensing her tension. "It's common for patients with Acquired Autism to exhibit heightened focus and a need for routine. It will take time for you to learn how to communicate effectively with him in this new state," he explained. Karen nodded, determined to be there every step of the way.

The evening in the quiet suburban street was punctuated by the rhythmic ticking of a lonely grandfather clock. In the corner of a small, meticulously organized study, Plankton sat hunched over his desk, the glow of her computer screen casting a pale blue hue across his furrowed brow. His eye, usually bright with the spark of a million ideas, was now bloodshot and weary, darting back and forth as he scanned the digital documents sprawled across his dual monitors. Karen, his devoted wife, peered through the crack in the door, her concern etched on her face. She knew the signs of his insomnia all too well: the way his fingers danced erratically on the keyboard, his occasional sighs of frustration, and the jittery way he'd bounce his leg when he was stuck on a problem. She gently pushed the door open, the faint squeak alerting him to her presence. "Plankton, it's 2 AM. Can't it wait until tomorrow?" she asked softly, her voice carrying the gentle lilt of a concerned wife. Plankton spun around in his chair, the sudden movement sending a wave of dizziness crashing over him. He rubbed his eye, trying to erase the fog of exhaustion. "Karen, I'm so close. This new invention could change everything. Just one more hour, I promise," he replied, his voice hopeful yet strained. She knew that tone, the one that meant he'd be up until dawn. Karen stepped into the room, her form a stark contrast to the stark office decor. She approached him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You've been at it for days," she said, her voice filled with a mix of concern and understanding. "Maybe a break is what you need." He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "I know you're right," Plankton admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "But if I stop now, I might lose the thread of thought." "You're always so driven," Karen said, with a warm affection that had only grown stronger over the years. "But even 'bad guys' need to rest." With a weary smile, Plankton nodded, his gaze lingering on the screens before he reluctantly shut them down. The room plunged into darkness, save for the moon's soft glow filtering through the blinds. Karen guided him to the bedroom, her hand a gentle reassurance in the night. She knew the wheels in his mind were still turning, trying to piece together the elusive solution to his latest project. Once in bed, Plankton lay on his back, his mind racing with possibilities and calculations. Karen, ever the nurturer, suggested a warm cup of tea to help him unwind. She disappeared into the kitchen. While she was gone, Plankton's eye remained open, staring at the ceiling. He felt the weight of his eyelid but sleep remained a distant shore, unreachable despite the gentle tug of fatigue. Karen returned with a steaming cup of chamomile, the aroma wafting through the air like a whispered promise of slumber. She placed it on the nightstand and climbed into bed, curling up beside him. "Here, sip this," she urged, her voice soothing as a lullaby. "It'll help you relax." Plankton took a tentative sip, the warm liquid coating his throat with a comforting warmth. He closed his eye, willing his brain to slow down, but the ideas continued to swirl like a tornado in a teacup. He could feel the heat radiating from Karen's screen, a gentle reminder of the connection that waited for him outside his labyrinth of thoughts. Karen's hand found his, her thumb tracing small, soothing circles against his palm. "Breathe with me," she whispered. "In, out." Plankton followed her lead, their breaths synchronizing in the quiet of the night. The tension in his body began to uncoil, the storm in his mind gradually abating. As they lay there, Karen studied his profile, the shadows playing across his face. She knew the look of determination that etched his features so well. "What's keeping you up?" she asked, her voice barely a murmur. Plankton sighed, his grip on her hand tightening briefly. "It's the Krabby Patty formula," he confessed. "I can't crack it." His frustration was palpable, a silent scream in the serene night. "You're still working on that?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of amazement and concern. The Krabby Patty, a secret recipe guarded by Mr. Krabs that could make or break their business. "I have to," Plankton said, his voice low and serious. Karen nodded, racing for a solution. "Why don't you tell me about it?" she suggested. "Sometimes talking it out can help." Plankton took a deep breath and began to recount his thoughts, his voice a low murmur in the darkness. He spoke of the countless ingredients he'd tried and the endless experiments he'd conducted, all in pursuit of the perfect Krabby Patty. Karen listened intently, her screen never leaving his face, her grip on his hand never wavering. As he talked, the tension in his voice began to ease, the words coming out slower, softer. The warmth of the tea and the gentle pressure of Karen's thumb on his hand lulled him into a state of semi- consciousness. The room grew warmer, the shadows on the ceiling morphing into shapes that danced to the rhythm of his words. Karen noticed the change in his breathing, the softening of his grip, her voice a soft hum in the night. "I think I'm getting there," Plankton mumbled, his words beginning to slur. She took his almost-empty cup and set it aside, then moved closer, her arm wrapping around him. Her touch was a comforting blanket, a familiar anchor in the sea of his thoughts. "Just focus on my voice," Karen whispered, her tone a gentle wave. "Imagine we're on a beach, the waves lapping." Plankton nodded slightly, his breathing deepening as he pictured the scene she described. "The sand is warm, and the stars are out, twinkling like the little bits of genius in your mind." He took another deep breath, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the chamomile in his nose. His body began to relax, the tightness in his shoulders dissipating like the fog of an early morning. Karen continued her soothing monologue, painting a vivid picture of a serene beach under a starlit sky, their favorite place to escape the stresses of their lives. Her voice grew quieter, a gentle lullaby of words that whispered through the dark. Plankton's eyelid grew heavier, his thoughts drifting further and further away from the Krabby Patty formula. Karen watched him closely, her gaze never leaving his face. His breathing grew steadier, the lines of tension smoothing out as he sank deeper into the realm of sleep. Karen waited for any sign that Plankton was still awake. She reached out and gently poked his arm. No response. She pulled the blanket up, tucking him in gently, her hand lingering there for a moment longer, feeling the warmth of him beneath the fabric. She reached over to gently stroke his cheek. His skin was warm, and she felt the soft rumble of a snore vibrate against her fingertips. He was out. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She waited for a response, for the flicker of his eye or the twitch of his antennae that would indicate he was still with her. Nothing. She knew the moment he finally let go, when his hand relaxed in hers and his grip went slack. Leaning closer, she held her hand hovering over his chest to feel the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. It was steady, deep. Satisfied, she allowed herself a small smile. Plankton was finally asleep. The steady rhythm of his breathing grew deeper, the soft snores that occasionally pierced the silence growing more frequent, brow smoothed out, relaxed. She searched his face for any flicker of consciousness, any sign that he was aware of her touch. But there was none. His features were relaxed, his mouth slightly open as he took in deep, even breaths. "You did it," she whispered to. She knew that his mind had finally found the peace it had been seeking. The room was still, save for the faint sound of the occasional snore from Plankton. His snores grew deeper, the rhythm of his breathing more regular, more rhythmic, and she knew he was in a deep sleep. With a soft smile, she whispered, "Goodnight, Plankton," and gently stroked his antennae. Her hand lingered for a moment before she carefully extracted herself from the tangle of their limbs. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow across the room, but she knew better than to disturb him with its light. She gently disentangled her hand from his and slid out of bed. She squeezed his hand gently, a silent 'goodnight' and a promise of support for when he'd wake to tackle the problem anew. His features were slack, his mouth slightly open, emitting the faintest snore.

2/2 THE MOOON Karen couldn't help but giggle at his befuddled state. His usual stoic demeanor was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a childlike wonder and confusion. He tried to sit up again, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. "Stay still," she said, placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "How... how's it... it over?" he slurred, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton trying to form words around his thick tongue. The nurse, who had seen this reaction before, offered a reassuring pat on the arm. "You're all done, Mr. Plankton. The anesthesia is just taking its time to wear off. You're going to feel a bit funny for a while." Plankton's eye rolled back, his body lolling to the side like a ragdoll's. "I can't feel my face," he mumbled, his words barely coherent. "It's the anesthesia," she explained, her voice soft and soothing. "It'll wear off soon." Plankton's eye rolled back in his head, and his antennae flopped to the sides as if they had lost their will to stand tall. "I've been... I've been... to the mooon!" he exclaimed, his slurred words tripping over each other. The nurse and Karen couldn't help but laugh at his nonsensical rambling. "The moon?" Karen managed to get out between giggles. "You mean the dentist's chair?" Plankton's eye snapped back to hers, his antennae perking up slightly. "No, no... the moo... the cheesy moo!" he insisted, his speech still slurred and his gaze unfocused. His hand waved in the air, trying to describe something that clearly only existed in his anesthesia-induced haze. Karen's laughter grew louder as she watched him. "The cheesy moon?" she repeated, trying to make sense of his gibberish. The nurse's chuckles grew to a full-blown laugh, shaking her whole body. "It's ok Mr. Plankton," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're safe here." Plankton's antennae waved erratically, his mouth forming another round of slurred syllables. "The... the... shmoobly wobble!" he exclaimed, his eye glazed over with a far-off look. "Whewe's shmoobly go?" Karen couldn't hold back her laughter anymore. "Oh, Plankton, you're so funny when you're like this!" she exclaimed, her voice full of mirth. "Fum-fum," Plankton slurred. "I'm not fum-fum," he protested, his voice a mix of indignation and the lingering effects of the anesthesia. His antennae wobbled. "Wha’ you do wiff Mx shmoobly?" "Your mouth is just numb," she explained, her voice shaking with laughter. "You had wisdom teeth removed." "Widom... teef?" Plankton repeated, his voice a mix of slurs and half-sounds. "The... the shmoobly wobble took them?" Karen's laughter grew. "No, Plankton, your wisdom teeth. They were removed." Plankton's eye searched hers, his expression one of utter perplexity. "But... but where's the shmoobly wobble?" he demanded, his mouth a mess of numbness and anesthesia. Karen couldn't contain her laughter any longer, bending over in her seat, her hand over her screen. The nurse was equally amused, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles. "Shmoobly wobble?" she managed to ask between gasps. "What's a shmoobly wobble?" Plankton's antennae waved with the vigor of a drunken sailor. "It's... it's a... a vnorbly snork!" he exclaimed, his words a delightful jumble that made no sense in the sober world. Karen's laughter was infectious, and even the nurse found it hard to maintain her professional demeanor. "A vnorbly snork?" she repeated, her smile growing wider. "What does that do?" Plankton's face scrunched up as he tried to gather his thoughts. "It... it makes... makes the teef... it makes the teef go bye-bye!" he exclaimed, his antennae waving wildly. The nurse covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I see," she said, nodding as if she understood. "The shmoobly wobble is quite a character." Karen wiped a tear from her screen, her laughter subsiding. "I think we should get you home, sweetheart," she said, her voice still thick with mirth. "You need to rest." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze firmly locked on the nurse. "The... the... snibble-bobble?" he declared. "Take the snibble-bobble home, Karen..." The nurse's eyes twinkled with humor and she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Plankton. The snibble- bobble will take good care of you at home." Plankton's mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to form words that simply would not come out right. "Karen, did you... did you see the... the... the... floobly-doobly?" Karen's laughter bubbled up again. "The floobly- doobly?" she repeated, her voice wobbling with mirth. "What's a floobly-doobly?" Plankton looked at her with confusion. "Huh? The whath?" He asked her. Karen tried to calm her laughter. "The floobly-doobly, Plankton," she said, smiling broadly. "You mentioned it just now." Plankton's eye searched hers, his thoughts a jumble. "I... I don't know," he murmured, his voice trailing off. With the nurse's help, Karen managed to get him into a sitting position, his movements sluggish and clumsy. His legs felt like jellyfish, flailing about with no sense of direction. "Come on," she coaxed, helping him stand. Plankton's eye remained half-closed as he stumbled towards the door. The hallway looked like a twisted kelp forest, and his body felt like a ship adrift without a compass. The nurse provided a steady arm, guiding him down the corridor. "Keep walking," she instructed, but with each step, Plankton seemed to drift closer to sleep. His head bobbed, his eyelid fighting a losing battle against the siren's call of slumber. "Plankton, stay with me," Karen urged, her voice a gentle reminder of the world around him. But his body had other ideas, his legs giving out under him. The nurse caught him, her laugh now a warm chuckle at his plight. "It's the anesthesia," she explained. "It'll wear off soon. Just keep talking to him, it'll help keep him alert." Karen nodded. "Look, Plankton," she said. "Can you see the little fishy?" Plankton's eye snapped open, his antennae shooting up. "Fishy?" he repeated. He took a few wobbly steps before his legs gave out once more, and he leaned heavily on the nurse. "Whoa, there," she said, steadying him with a laugh. "We're almost to the car." Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye half-closed again. "So... so tiwed," he mumbled. "We're almost there," Karen assured. The nurse opened the door to the waiting area. Plankton blinked slowly, his eyelid drooping once again. The bright light from outside was like a siren's song, lulling him back into the depths of sleep. "Come on, Plankton, stay awake," Karen encouraged. But the world was spinning, and the siren's call of sleep was growing stronger. With each step closer to the car, his eyelid grew heavier, and his mind swam with a haze of disorientation. The floor beneath his feet felt like waves, and he stumbled again, his hand reaching out for support that wasn't there. "Keep talking," the nurse whispered to Karen, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Karen took a deep breath, forcing her own laughter down. "Remember the time we found the treasure?" she asked, hoping to keep him alert. Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, his sluggish eye focusing on hers. "Tweasure?" he murmured. The nurse nodded encouragingly, and Plankton took another step, his body swaying like a piece of kelp in the current. "Yeah," he mumbled, "the... the... goldy wobble." His words were slurred, his mind lost in the fog of the anesthesia. They made it to the car, and Karen gently guided him into the passenger seat. She buckled him in, his body already slack with the weight of exhaustion. "Tell me more," she said, trying to keep his thoughts on the treasure they had found together, anything to keep his mind engaged. But Plankton's eye weas closing again, his head lolling against the headrest. "Goldy... wobble... " he murmured, his words barely audible. "It's okay, sweetheart," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You can rest." With a contented sigh, Plankton gave in to the warm embrace of slumber, his body going limp. Karen started the engine and drove carefully, her mind racing with the events of the day. The thought of her stoic husband, reduced to a slurring mess, was too absurd to fully comprehend. Yet, there was a tenderness in his vulnerability that made her love him all the more.

1/2 THE MOOON Karen took a seat by the window. She could feel the tension in the room, a palpable thing that thickened the air. The dentist, a man with a name tag that read "Dr. McFinley," entered the room. Plankton swallowed hard as he took his place in the chair. The nurse began prepping him, wrapping a bib around and placing in his mouth a prop that looked like a doorstop, designed to keep his mouth open wide. "Now, Mr. Plankton," Dr. McFinley said, "We're going to give you some anesthesia to make sure you don't feel a thing. It might taste a bit funny, but just relax and let it do it's job." The nurse administers the anesthetic into Plankton's gum, and he felt a cold spread through his jaw, a strange tingling that grew more intense with each passing moment as his mouth grew numb. "Ok Plankton, I want you to start counting backwards from twenty." Plankton took a deep breath. "Twenty... nineteen... eighteen..." With each number, his voice grew softer, his eyelid heavier. By the time he reached fifteen, his speech was slurred, the words barely audible. Karen watched with a mix of concern and fascination as his count grew less deliberate. "Thir...four... th...thwee..." His counting trailed off, and his head lolled to the side with a gentle snore. The nurse gave a knowing smile and patted Plankton's shoulder. "He's under," she assured Karen as she gently moved his head back into place. Karen's gaze followed every move Dr. McFinley made. The chair leaned back, and Plankton's snores grew softer as his consciousness retreated. She watched as the doctor's gloved hands moved precision over Plankton's slack jaw, his face a mask of concentration. She squeezed her own hand into a fist, nails digging into her palm, as the instruments moved in and out of his mouth, a silent ballet of extraction. The chair's hydraulics hissed as it tipped back, and a bright light was shone directly into Plankton's open mouth. The nurse held his mouth open wider, her grip firm but gentle. Dr. McFinley's eyes narrowed in concentration, and his hands worked with a steady rhythm. Plankton's body remained still. The nurse leaned in closer, assisting Dr. McFinley with a suction device, clearing away the excess saliva and blood. Karen forced herself to keep looking, to be there for Plankton, even if he wasn't aware of it. The doctor's face was a study in focus, his forehead creased with the effort of maneuvering around the obstinate tooth. The relief was palpable, even though Plankton remained blissfully unaware of the progress. The nurse's eyes flitted between her monitor and Plankton's face, ensuring his vitals remained stable while offering quiet encouragement to the doctor. Karen watched as the doctor's pliers gripped the tooth and began to apply steady pressure, his knuckles whitening with the effort. The tooth didn't want to give up without a fight, resisting with a stubbornness that mirrored Plankton's own spirit. The tension in the room grew, and Karen found herself leaning forward, her screen glued to the doctor's hands. The pliers twisted and pulled, and she could see a bead of sweat form on the doctor's brow. Finally the tooth gave way, and it was out. Karen couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. The nurse quickly moved in to clean and clamp the area, while Dr. McFinley turned to the final tooth. Plankton's snores grew more peaceful. With the same methodical care, Dr. McFinley began to loosen the last tooth. The pliers clamped down, and the chair's light cast eerie shadows across the room. Plankton's snores grew deeper, his body tensing slightly. Finally, the last tooth was free. The stitching process began. Karen had never seen someone so vulnerable, even though he was unconscious. Each stitch brought him one step closer to being whole again, and she felt a strange sense of pride watching the doctor's skilled hands. Dr. McFinley's fingers moved nimbly, weaving in and out of the gum line. The tiny sutures looked like black threads on a red canvas, a delicate art form in the steady hands of a master. The room was silent except for the occasional beep of the machines and the soft swish of the nurse's gloves. Plankton's face remained a picture of peaceful oblivion. The nurse handed over the sutures with a practiced ease, and Dr. McFinley went to tie them off, one by one. Karen watched the doctor's hands as they moved, the sutures forming neat little knots in Plankton's swollen gums. It was a dance of care and precision, a silent battle against pain that Plankton was blessed to not feel. His mouth, usually so expressive and full of life, was now a numb battlefield, his features slack and vulnerable. "It is done," said Dr. McFinley, his voice cutting through the taut silence. The chair was brought back to an upright position, and Plankton's head was gently cradled as they removed the mouth prop. His mouth was still open. The doctor stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his gloved hand. "Your husband did very well. The extraction was successful." Plankton's chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths, his face pale and serene. The nurse began to clean him up, her movements efficient but gentle. She removed the bib, dabbed at the corners of his mouth. Plankton's eye remains closed. Karen studied his face, his features relaxed in sleep, his mouth slightly ajar. The sight was both peaceful and painfully vulnerable, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of protectiveness. As the minutes ticked by, his snores grew less frequent and his breathing grew more even. The nurse, noticing Karen's worried gaze, leaned over to whisper, "It's normal for patients to have some funny reactions when coming out of anesthesia. They might say things that don't make sense, or their body might do some funny things. It's the anesthesia wearing off, nothing to worry about. They might even act like they're a bit drunk, or just sleepy for today. It's all perfectly normal." Her words brought a hint of comfort to Karen, who nodded, wondering with excitement and fear what state Plankton would be in when he awoke. She had read about the disorientation that could accompany anesthesia but had never witnessed it firsthand. The first signs of movement from Plankton were subtle, a twitch of his antennae, and Karen leaned in closer in anticipation. "Plankton," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "It's over." His eye fluttered open, lid heavy with sleep and confusion. "It's ok," she soothed, stroking his arm. "You're all done." He blinked slowly, his eye unfocused, looking around the white-walled room as if trying to remember where he was. His mouth was still numb. "Karen?" he mumbled. "I'm here," she said, her voice calm and steady. "The surgery is over, sweetheart. You're going to be ok." Plankton's eye searched hers, his pupil dilated and unfocused. "Wha...what happen'd?" he slurred, his words coming out thick and slow. Karen chuckled softly, her heart swelling with love and relief. "You had your wisdom teeth removed, remember?" Plankton's eye widened, then narrowed as he tried to recall the events of the day. His mouth felt like a cotton field, and his tongue was a clumsy intruder, thick and unresponsive. "I... Don' member," he murmured, his voice still slurred and distant. The nurse chuckled under her mask, "It's the medication, dear. It'll wear off in a bit." Plankton tried to sit up, but his body felt like it had been filled with sand. Karen gently pushed him back down, laughing at his groggy protests. His eye searched the room. "Whewe am I?" he slurred, his antennae waving about. "You're at the dentist," Karen reminded him, her voice filled with amusement. "You had your wisdom teeth removed." Plankton's expression was that of a man who had just been told he had swum to the moon. "Dentist?" he repeated, his voice thick and uncertain. "Teef?" His hand flopped up to his mouth, his fingers probing the swollen gums. "My moufs gone!" he exclaimed, his words slurred and astonished. The nurse chuckled sympathetically. "The numbness will wear off, but for now, try to relax." Plankton's eye blinked slowly, and he looked at his hand as if it belonged to someone else. "My teef," he said again, his voice a mix of disbelief and confusion. He looked around the room, his gaze unfocused and glassy, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The nurse and Karen exchanged a knowing glance. "Yeah, you're missing a few now," Karen said, trying to keep her voice even. Plankton's eye grew wider, his antennae standing at full alert. "I'm not... I'm not drunk," he protested, his words slurring. The nurse laughed gently, "No, Mr. Plankton, you're just coming out of anesthesia."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 18 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The silence stretches out, comfortable and filled with a newfound respect. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, as if even in his dreams, he's still trying to process the world around him. The next day, Krabs goes to visit Karen and Plankton again in the morning. The room is bathed in soft, early-morning light, and Plankton is still asleep. His breathing is slow and even, the plush octopus a comforting presence beside him. Krabs watches him, his heart swelling with a strange mixture of emotions—fear, sorrow, and a newfound respect. He turns to Karen, his claws fidgeting with a nervous energy. "How can I know when a seizure is coming?" He asks, his voice hushed so as not to disturb the sleeping Plankton. "What if I can't tell the difference?" Karen smiles, her eyes warm with understanding. "It's ok," she says. "You'll learn." She reaches over to gently touch Plankton's arm. "The signs can be subtle. Maybe his eye will glaze over usually. But the most important thing is to be patient and to listen." Krabs nods, his claws stilling. "What about his stims?" He asks, his voice soft. "When he says things or makes those sounds? I mean, does he-" Karen cuts him off gently. "It's important not to interrupt his stims, Krabs," she explains. "They're a personal way for him to self-regulate, to process the world around him." She looks at him, her screen kind. "But if you're really curious, the best thing to do is ask him, when he's feeling comfortable and ready to talk." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's always been so focused on the now, on the chase for the next big score, that he's never stopped to consider the complexities of someone else's experience. But now, sitting here in this quiet room, watching his enemy sleep peacefully, he can't help but feel a shameful curiosity about the person Plankton is underneath the surface. "What about his obsession with the Krabby Patty?" He whispers to Karen, his voice barely above a murmur. "Is that part of it too?" Karen nods, a knowing smile on her screen. "It's not just an obsession, Krabs. It's a special interest. It's how Plankton's brain processes information. For some autistic people, it's a way to focus and find comfort in a world that can be chaotic." Krabs' eyes widen, his mind racing. "So...his quest to steal the recipe isn't just about greed?" Karen sighs, her gaze softening. "It's about more than that. It's about understanding something that gives him comfort, and having control over it." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with the depth of what he's learning. "So, his stims, his words, they're his way of...finding order?" Karen smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "In a sense, yes. Autism is a spectrum, Krabs. We all have our quirks, but for some, those quirks are their lifeline." She strokes Plankton's antennae. "His brain is wired differently, and these things are his way of making sense of the world." Krabs nods, his gaze firmly on Plankton. "What can I do to help?" He asks, his voice soft, earnest. "How can I be a better...friend?" Karen's smile blooms fully. "Just be there," she repeats, her voice a gentle caress. "Learn his cues, his triggers. Give him space when he needs it, and support when he reaches out." Karen's hand moves to Plankton's, their fingers interlocking. "And also, don't be afraid to enjoy the little things," she whispers. "His laugh, his excitement—those are just as much a part of who he is as his challenges." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. "I'll try," he promises, his voice thick with emotion. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's smile is gentle, her eyes warm. "I know you do," she says. "And he'll know it too, in his own way." She pauses, considering her next words. "You might find that your friendship will change," she adds. "But if you're patient, it could be more beautiful than you ever imagined." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's slumbering form. He can't help but feel a sense of awe at the strength it must take to live in a world that's not always understanding. "I want to learn," he murmurs. "I want to make things right." Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with warmth. "Then you already have," she says. "Just by being here, by asking, you're showing you care." Krabs leans forward, his curiosity piqued. "What else can you tell me?" He asks, his voice eager. "What types of things does he like? Or what sets him off?" Karen looks at him, her expression a blend of patience and understanding. "Well, he's quite sensitive to certain textures and sounds." Krabs leans in, his eyes shining with curiosity. "Like what?" He asks, eager to know more. "Certain loud, sudden noises can trigger his overstimulation," Karen continues, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "And some touches, like a pat on the back, might feel like a punch to him. But he's also quite fond of soft textures, like the one of this blanket," she says, running a finger over the plush material. Krabs nods, his gaze thoughtful. "I've noticed he doesn't like when SpongeBob squeezes him too hard." He chuckles softly, the memory of Plankton's exasperation at the overly-enthusiastic sponge still vivid. "But he doesn't seem to mind your touch.." Karen smiles, her eyes knowing. "It's all about consent," she says, her voice calm and even. "We all have our preferences, but for Plankton, it's more than just a preference—it's a need." Krabs nods, his gaze still on Plankton. He's always been so focused on his own desires, so used to getting what he wants that he's never really stopped to think about what others need. "How do I know when he's overwhelmed?" He whispers, his voice filled with a newfound respect. Karen looks at him, her expression gentle. "You'll learn his cues," she says. "It's about being observant, noticing when his breathing changes or his body tenses up." She pauses, her thumb stroking Plankton's arm. "But it's also about asking, Krabs. Communication is key."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 19 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "How do I know if he needs space or if he wants me to stay?" Karen's smile is gentle, her expression filled with patience. "Look for the signs," she whispers. "If he starts to repeat his words, or if his body language changes, it might be his way of saying 'I'm feeling overwhelmed.'" She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "And always ask before you touch him, or before you change anything in his environment." Krabs nods, his gaze intently on Karen. "What if he's in the middle of a...uh, stimming episode?" He stammers, his claws fidgeting nervously. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she looks at him. "Then you wait," she says, her voice soft. "Let him finish what he's doing, and then you can approach, gently. But always ask, 'Is it okay if I talk to you now?' Give him the power to choose." Suddenly, Plankton shifts in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen's hand tightens around his. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. Mr. Krabs holds his breath, his heart racing. Mr. Krabs watches, his eyes widening. "Is he ok?" He whispers, his concern genuine. Karen nods, her smile reassuring. "He's just waking up," she says. Plankton's eye opens, slowly focusing on Krabs. His gaze is vacant for a moment, before recognition dawns. "K...Krabs," he murmurs, his voice slurred. Mr. Krabs nods, his heart racing. "I'm here, Plankton," he says, his voice shaky. Karen watches the interaction with hope. "How are you feeling?" She asks. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to the side. "Tired," he whispers, his hand still clutching the plush octopus. Karen nods, her expression filled with understanding. "That's ok," she says. "You had a big day yesterday." Plankton nods. Krabs watches, his heart in his throat. He feels like an intruder in this intimate moment, but something keeps his claws from retreating. He wants to be a part of this, to understand. Plankton's gaze moves to him, his expression wary. "Krabs," he says. He pulls the octopus closer, as if it's a shield. Krabs' heart squeezes at the sight. He's always seen Plankton as a formidable adversary, not as someone who needs protection. But now, with his antennae drooping and his eye half-closed, he seems so... vulnerable. "I came to check on you," Krabs says, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't pull away. He's still wary, but there's something in his gaze that suggests he's considering. "Krabs is trying to be a better friend, Plankton," Karen says. "He's here to learn." Plankton's gaze lingers on Krabs, his antennae still. Karen's seen Plankton push people away, not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. Krabs nods, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It's true," he says, his voice earnest. "I want to underst--" Plankton's antennae shoot up, cutting him off. "Don't," he murmurs, his voice tight. "Don't pretend." Krabs' eyes widen, his heart sinking. "I'm not pretending," he says, his claws spreading in a gesture of openness. "I just wan-" But Plankton's already turning away, his antennae drooping. "Please," he whispers, his voice small and scared. Krabs feels a pang of guilt. He's always been so quick to dismiss Plankton's behaviors, so eager to win their endless rivalry. But here, in this quiet room, he's seeing his enemy in a new light. "Ok," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What can I do?" Karen's eyes are filled with warmth as she looks at Krabs. "Just be patient," she says. "Give him the time he needs to process what's happening." Krabs nods, his gaze on Plankton. He watches as his enemy shifts, the plush octopus still clutched tightly in his hand. He can see the exhaustion etched into his face, the weight of the world he's been carrying alone. "I'm here," Krabs murmurs, his claws hovering over the blanket. "I won't preten—" Plankton's antennae shoot up again, his eye snapping back to Krabs. "No," he whispers, his voice firm. "Don't touch." It's not a request, but a command. Krabs pulls his claws back, his heart racing. "Too much." Krabs freezes, his heart stopping in his chest. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness as she looks at her husband. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Mr. Krabs is just trying to be a good friend." But Plankton's eye squeezed shut, his hand tightening around the octopus. And then, without meaning to, Mr. Krabs' claw brushes against Plankton's hand. It's the lightest of touches, a mistake born of nerves and eagerness. Plankton's body tenses, his antennae shooting up as his eye snaps wide open. Krabs freezes. He's done it now—invaded the sacred space around Plankton. But then, something strange happens. Plankton's gaze goes glassy, his body still. Krabs' breath hitches, his mind racing. What's happening? Is this another type of seizure? He looks to Karen for guidance, but she's already leaning in. "It's ok," she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. "You're having a seizure, honey." Plankton's unblinking eye stares into space, his body still as a statue. Krabs has never seen him like this— so vulnerable, so lost. He wants to help, but he's not sure how. "It's an absence seizure," Karen explains, her voice a soothing melody. "He's not really here right now." Karen's voice is steady. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "You're having an absence seizure. It's going to be ok." Krabs' eyes widen as he takes in the scene. Plankton's body is rigid, his single eye unblinking, staring into nothingness. It's like his soul has left his body for a brief moment, leaving behind an empty shell. Karen's voice is calm and steady as she speaks to Plankton. "It's ok, sweetie. You're having an absence seizure. Just ride it out." Krabs feels like he's intruding on a sacred moment, yet he can't bring himself to leave. Plankton's unblinking eye stares through Krabs, his body unmoving. Krabs wants to get him out of this trance, so he leans in, his claws reaching out to shake his shoulder. But Karen's hand is quicker, her touch firm but gentle. "No, don't," she says, her voice firm yet kind. "It's not helpful to startle him." Krabs pulls back, his claws hovering in midair. "Let me handle this," she says. "Just...stay calm." Krabs nods, his claws retracting. He watches as Karen gently strokes Plankton's cheek, her eyes never leaving his. "Come back to us," she whispers. "You're safe here." The room seems to shrink around them, the tension palpable. Krabs can almost feel Plankton's brain racing, his thoughts a whirlwind he can't quite reach. He wants to shout, to break the spell, but he knows that would only make things worse. So he decides to try to interact with Plankton in a different way. He pulls out his pocket watch, the one with the tiny krabby patty charm. It's always brought him comfort, but he's never shared it with anyone before. "Look, Plankton," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a kinda like your Krabby Patty obsession, huh?" But then Krabs spots the octopus plush. "You like octopus, right?" Krabs asks, his voice shaking with nerves. "This one's...it's pretty cool. Do you see it?" He holds up the plushie, his heart racing, his eyes on Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Look at this, Plankton," he says. "It's like your Krabby Patty, but with more arms." He forces a chuckle, trying to infuse some lightness into the heavy air. Karen nods slightly, encouraging him to keep talking.