𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 14 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip sits beside Karen, watching his dad sleep. He's quiet, his mind racing with questions. How can someone so strong, so in control, be brought to this? The room feels heavy with silence, the air thick with unspoken fears and love. Plankton's snores are a comforting reminder that he's okay, that the storm has passed. Chip's screen flickers with the memory of his dad's favorite pranks, his laughter echoing in the quiet room. But now, his dad looks so small, so fragile. Karen notices Chip's distant gaze. "Remember, Chip, he's still the same person." She pauses, searching for the right words. "His autism doesn't change who he is, just how he experiences the world." Chip nods, but the doubt lingers. How can he understand a world so alien to his own? The silence in the room is broken by Plankton's sudden mumble. "Karen?" His voice is a whisper, his antennae slowly rising. Her screen lights up with relief and love. "You're okay," she says, her hand stroking his. Plankton's eye opens, unfocused and tired. "Chip?" He sees his son, sitting on the bed, his screen filled with uncertainty. "Dad?" Chip whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to sit up. "I'm okay," he says, his voice hoarse. Karen's hand on his shoulder steadies him. "Just tired." The weight of sleep lifts from his eyelid. Chip watches, his screen reflecting the hope that his dad is okay. "Do you... Do you remember?" Plankton's eye widens, his antennae quivering. "Chip," he murmurs, his voice filled with regret. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "You had a meltdown." Plankton's antennae fall, his gaze dropping. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice thick with guilt. "It's not your fault," Karen says, squeezing his hand. "We know it's not." But Chip is full of questions. "What can I do?" he asks, his screen eager. "How can I help?" Karen smiles, her eyes filling with pride. "You're already helping," she says. "Just by being here, just by loving him." But Chip wants more. He wants to understand, to help in the way Karen does. "What are his triggers?" he asks. Karen's screens flicker with thought. "Well," she says, "it's different for everyone. For him, it can be sudden noises, changes in routine, or even his belongings being moved without his knowing." Chip nods, his mind racing. "But what about his stims?" he asks. "Those are his way of coping," Karen explains. "When he flaps his arms, spins, or repeats words, he's trying to regulate his sensory input. It's like he's tuning in to the world." Karen says. "And when he repeats words or phrases, it helps him make sense of what's happening. Let him do his thing. Sometimes he'll need help to calm down, like with the squeezy ball or his fidget toy. And sometimes, just being there, quietly, is all he needs. As long as you listen and respect his boundaries, you'll be his best helper." Chip's curiosity is piqued. He looks at his dad, now easing himself onto the pillow. "What types of touch does he like?" Chip's voice is soft. Karen's screens flicker with memories of trial and error, of finding the right balance. "Some autistics like deep pressure," she says. "It can be soothing. But he's different. He usually prefers light touches, like strokes or holding hands." Plankton's antennae twitch at the mention of his name. "What do I do if he has another meltdown?" Chip's voice is earnest. "Just be there," Karen says. "Sometimes, just knowing you're there can make all the difference." She sighs. "But if it's really bad, we'll have to get the medicine again, as a last resort. It's hard," she admits. "But I love him. And I'll always be here for him." Chip nods. "I love him too," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to help him." Karen's screens glow with pride. "You already do," she says. "But I know you want to understand more." Chip nods. "What about when he's really happy?" Karen's screens light up with a smile. "Oh, his laughter is the sweetest sound. But if he reaches for you, if he wants to share that joy, just be there, okay?" Chip nods, eager to learn. "What if he starts repeating things again?" Karen's screen softens. "It's called echolalia," she says. "It's his brain's way of processing. Just let him finish, and then you can talk." She pauses, her thumb tracing a pattern on Plankton's hand. "And if you repeat something with understanding, it can help make him feel heard." Chip nods, his mind racing. He's seen his dad do this before, but never knew what it meant. "What about his rocking?" he asks. Karen's screens flicker with knowledge. "That's his way of self-stimulating," she says. "It helps him regulate his nervous system. Sometimes it's soothing, sometimes it's how he thinks. Remember, his body's his own. If he pulls away, it's not personal. It's just his way of saying he needs a break." "How did you learn all of this?" Karen looks down at their intertwined hands, her screens reflecting the journey. "Trials and errors, love," she says. "And listening to him. Everyone's autism is different. What works for one might not work for another. We just have to keep trying, keep learning." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions. "How do we know if he's about to have a meltdown?" Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae still. "Look for the signs," she says. "Sudden agitation, avoiding eye contact, flapping his arms, or repeating words. That's when you know he's overwhelmed." He nods, trying to picture it. "What about his box?" "That's sensory aids," she explains. "They help him cope with stress. It's important we don't touch it without asking first." "What's in there? Dad, can I see?" But Plankton cuts him off. "Absolutely NOT!" he says. Karen's screen flickers with a smile. "It's his personal space," she tells Chip gently. "Those things are special to him, his tools to stay calm." Chip nods, his curiosity still unquenched. "Can I..." But Plankton's antennae shoot up. "I just said no, Chip!" He's alert, his voice sharp. Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "Remember," she says calmly, "his box is his sanctuary." Plankton's gaze locks with Chip's, his eye wide with agitation. "Okay, okay," Chip says, his hands up in surrender. He can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken words heavy between them. "What if I just peek?" he asks him. Plankton's antennae quiver. "No," he says firmly. "It's not for playing." "Dad, I--" "How about NO?" Plankton says, his voice still a little rough around the edges. Chip nods, his curiosity now mixed with respect. "Okay," he says. "But can you show me?" Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae still. "It's okay," she says softly. "We can show him together." Plankton's eye narrows, but he doesn't resist as Karen opens the box.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 17 Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breathing evening out as Karen continues to stroke his back. Chip feels a lump in his throat. He wants to help, to ease his dad's pain. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. Karen looks over, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "You didn't, sweetie," she says. "But sometimes, even good intentions can be overwhelming for your dad. It's not your fault. Just like it's not his." Plankton's antenna twitches, his gaze shifting to Chip. He takes a deep breath as Karen's hands continue to stroke his back. His body relaxes a little more, his grip on Karen loosening. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton eye opens. "Can I...?" Chip gestures towards his dad, his hand now outstretched. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye darting to Karen. She nods, her smile reassuring. "If you like," she whispers. With tentative movements, Chip's hand reaches for his father's shoulder. Plankton flinches slightly. "Gentle." Chip nods, his touch featherlight as he rests his hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's okay," he murmurs. Plankton's body relaxes a fraction more under the warmth of his son's hand, his eye now closing. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, and she smiles weakly, her gaze filled with gratitude. "Thank you," she mouths. Chip nods, his hand still on his dad. Plankton's humming has stopped, his breathing steadying as Karen holds him. For the first time, Chip feels a profound sense of understanding for his father. He's seen his strength in the face of Mr. Krabs' competition, his genius in his inventions, but now he sees his softer side, his vulnerability. And it makes him love his dad even more. Plankton's breaths have now turned into a soft snore, his body relaxed against Karen's. Chip can see the exhaustion in every line of his father's face, a testament to the battle he's just faced. "He's asleep," Karen whispers, her voice filled with love and relief. Chip nods, his hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Should we...?" Karen shakes her head. "Let him rest," she says, her voice a mere whisper. "He's had a long day." Plankton's clinginess was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. Karen knew all too well the emotional toll his seizures took on him. But it was the first time Chip had seen his dad so... dependent on someone else for comfort. It was jarring, but it also made him realize the strength that Plankton held within himself, the courage to face, alone. As Plankton sleeps, his snores are rhythmic. It's a sound that Karen finds soothing, a sign that he's at peace. His body seems to melt into her side, his muscles unclenched. Chip watches him, his mind racing with thoughts. He's seen his dad's fiery temper, his ingenious inventions, his unwavering drive, but never this, raw and exhausted. It's a stark contrast that makes his chest ache. Plankton's snores remain steady, his body completely relaxed against Karen's side. Karen looks over at Chip, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "He's been through a lot," she whispers. "But he's stronger than anyone I know." Chip nods, his hand still resting lightly on his father's shoulder. Karen gently shifts Plankton, getting ready to tuck him into his bed, his snores unchanged, his mind resting. Karen carefully slides her arm from underneath Plankton's head, her movements practiced and gentle. Chip watches, his eyes never leaving his father's face, as if afraid to miss anything. Plankton's snores hitch, but don't stop. As Karen pulls the covers over Plankton, his snores don't miss a beat. His body sags against the pillow, his antennae still. Chip watches his dad sleep, a sight that both comforts and saddens him. He's seen Plankton's fiery determination in their battles against Mr. Krabs, but now his father seems so small, so vulnerable. Karen nods to Chip, whispering, "Why don't you go to your room? I'll keep an eye on him." Chip hesitates, his hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "But what if he wakes up?" Chip's concern is palpable, but Karen's smile is reassuring. "I'll wake you if he needs you," she promises. "But he's in a good place right now. He just needs rest." Chip nods, his hand lingering on Plankton's shoulder for a moment longer. He gently withdraws it, his gaze still locked on his father. "Okay," he whispers, his voice barely audible. Karen stands up, her movements silent as she crosses the room. "You've had a long day too," she says softly, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you get some sleep as well? Your dad's got an appointment tomorrow with his sensory therapist." But Chip's eyes widen. "What‽" "It's okay," Karen whispers, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "It's just to help him and us understand his senses better." The next morning Karen wakes Chip up. "We're about to go; I'll wake your dad." Chip nods sleepily, his eyes still adjusting to the light. He walks into the room to find Plankton still asleep, his body still curled into a tiny ball, his snores steady and deep.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 18 Karen moves quietly. She gently shakes him. "Plankton, wake up," she whispers. "The therapist." Plankton's antenna twitches, his eye slowly opening. "Oh, right," he mumbles, his voice groggy. "He usually comes over when Chip's at school or someth-" Plankton startled at a knock on the front door, the sensory therapist arriving for the session. Chip follows his parents to open the door. The therapist, a calm and kind octopus, enters the room, her arms filled with toys and devices. She smiles warmly at Plankton. "Good morning," she says. "And who's this young man I see?" She looks at Chip. Chip smiles shyly. "Our son Chip," Karen said, introducing her son. "He's here to learn too." The therapist nods, her eyes understanding. "It's important for everyone to understand, isn't it?" she says, her voice gentle. Karen turns to Chip. "So Chip, this is Dr. Marla." "Hello," Dr. Marla says, coming in to the living room. "I've known your father and worked with him for ages. Let's all sit on the living room floor." Chip nods, his heart racing. This is the first time he's met someone who's known his dad's secret. He sits down next to Plankton, who's now fully alert as they all sit in a circle. Dr. Marla opens a bag filled with various sensory toys. "Plankton," she says, her tone gentle, "I assume your son has learned about your condition. How'd that come about?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "It was an accident," he says, his voice a mix of embarrassment and resignation. "But it led to... to a good discussion? It was when he saw me having one of my seizures.." Chip looks down at his hands, feeling his cheeks grow warm as he remembers that moment. Karen's hand finds his, giving it a squeeze. "It's okay," she whispers. "You can talk about it. Now is the time to ask, Chip." Dr. Marla nods. "And how has that affected your father and son relationship?" She asks. Chip looks up, his eyes meeting hers. "It's... it's different," he says. "But in a good way, I think." He glances at Plankton, who nods in agreement. "I've learned so much about his... his autism. And I know now that he's not just being mean, sometimes." Dr. Marla nods, her expression gentle. "That's important," she says. "It's about understanding and compassion. Now, I'd like to ask if there have been any mishaps with said relationship?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye flicking to Karen. "Well," Karen says, "There was the time Chip tried to be supportive, yet he accidentally used a slur.." The therapist nods sympathetically. "It's a learning process," she says, her tone reassuring. "Missteps are common when navigating new understandings." She glances at Chip, her expression encouraging. "But it's how you apologize and move forward that shows growth. May I ask what slur wa-" "It was just a... a silly thing I said," Chip interjects, his voice small. "I didn't kno—" "It's okay," Dr. Marla interrupts, her eyes kind. "We're here to learn together. What was the slur?" Chip swallows hard. "I... I called him a ret-" he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just saw him acting..." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen's grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent reassurance. "It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't kn-" But Plankton's anger surges up, cutting her off. "No, it's not okay!" he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can't believe you said it, again!" His eye narrows, and he pulls his hand away from Karen's grasp. Chip shrinks back, his heart racing. He's never seen his dad so upset with him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he stammers. "I really di-" But Plankton isn't listening, his antennae thrashing. "How could you?!" he yells. "After everything we talked about!" His voice is loud, echoing in the small room, and Chip flinches. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, her heart breaking for both of them. She knows Plankton's anger is a defense mechanism, a way to cope with his pain. But she also knows the pain Chip is feeling, the guilt and fear of losing his dad's trust. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm, "Let's talk about this with Dr. Marla; she's he--" "No!" Plankton shouts, his eye wide with rage. He stands up, his fists clenched as he grabs a pillow, throwing it across the room. Karen flinches as the pillow hits the wall, but her voice stays calm. "Plankton, sweetie, let's breathe." But Plankton's in his own world, his autism exacerbating his reaction to the painful word. He's spinning, his antennae thrashing as he searches for something, anything to release his anger. "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" But Plankton's in the throes of his tantrum, his body moving erratically. He grabs a book from the shelf, tossing it across the room. Karen jumps up, intervening before anything else can fly. "Plankton," she says firmly, her voice a steady force in the storm of his anger. "Look at me. Look at me," she repeats, her hands up, palms out. "Just br-" But Plankton isn't calming down, his eye wild, kicking a chair over. Dr. Marla approaches them. "It's okay, Plankton," she says calmly. "Your feelings are valid. But right now, let's find a better way to express them." She holds out a fidget toy, her voice steady. "Remember, this can he-" But Plankton's anger has taken over. He swipes at the toy, sending it flying. He then moves to a shelf, his hand grabbing a picture frame. It hits the floor. "No!" Karen yells, but it's too late. Dr. Marla approaches Karen and Chip. "See, this is the anger," she says, her voice calm and understanding. "It's common with autism. He's feeling overwhelmed and doesn't know how to express it. This is Plankton's autism flaring up, and this is Plankton's way of dealing with it. This is Plankton's way of saying, 'I'm in pain, and I need help.' Plankton is angry, yes, but he's also scared."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 19 Dr. Marla gestures to the corner of the room, where there's a calming space set up specifically for times like these. "Let's go over there," she suggests, her voice calm and soothing. But Plankton's rage is like a tornado, spinning him in circles. Karen tries to guide him gently, but he shrugs her off, his body tight with tension. Chip's eyes are wide with fear, watching his dad's outburst. He's seen his father's temper before, but not like this, not with such unbridled fury. Plankton's movements are jerky, his face distorted with anger and pain. His breaths are quick, his eye unfocused. Karen moves closer, her voice still calm. "Let's go to this calming corner, sweetie," she says. But Plankton's rage doesn't abate. He throws another pillow, knocking over a lamp. The room is a mess, a reflection of the turmoil within him. "Dad, please," Chip whispers, his voice shaking. He's never seen his dad like this, his usually stoic facade crumbling into a chaos of emotions. Plankton's body jerks, his limbs flailing as his anger escalates. He knocks over a table, his eye unseeing as his senses overload. Karen moves quickly, trying to guide him to the calming corner, but he resists. "Dad, please," Chip pleads, his voice trembling. But Plankton's anger is uncontrollable, knocking over furniture, his eye filled with a mix of fury and fear. The therapist's calm demeanor remains. She knows this is part of his condition, and she doesn't flinch as a book flies past her. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice firm but gentle, "we need to—" But Plankton isn't listening, his rage consuming him. He grabs another pillow, squeezing it tightly. His eye darts around the room, searching for an outlet for his anger. "Daddy, no!" Chip whispers, his voice shaking. His heart is racing as he watches his father, his hero, fall apart. Chip tries to intervene, but Plankton swats his hand away, his movements wild. "Dad," Chip says, his voice louder, more urgent. "Please, let's talk!" But Plankton can't hear him, his mind lost in his emotions. He throws the pillow, watching it soar through the air before it slams into the wall, the feathers exploding out. The room is a whirlwind of movement and noise, and Chip can't help but flinch with every crash and smash. Karen's eyes are wide, her face pale. She's seen this before, but it never gets any easier. Plankton's breaths are coming in quick gasps, his body trembling with the effort of containing his emotions. He throws his head back, letting out a scream that echoes through the room, his antennae whipping around. Karen's heart is in her throat, but she knows she has to stay calm. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Come to the corner, please." She holds out a hand, but Plankton's too far gone to see it. He throws another book, his screams filling the room. Karen's heart is racing, but she keeps calm. "We're here for you," she repeats. Yet Plankton's rage continues to build, his movements more erratic. The therapist watches, ready to step in if needed. "It's okay," she says soothingly. "Let's all stay calm and sa-" But Plankton's meltdown reaches a crescendo. He stumbles. Chip's eyes widen in horror as his father's body jerks uncontrollably. So Chip gets the box of all the sensory items and brings it out. But that ends up being a huge mistake. Plankton's flailing ends up kicking, sending every thing flying, everything slamming into the wall, the plaster cracking. The destroyed sensory box and unfixable items are what breaks the straw on the camel's back. His eye rolls back in his head, his body going slack. Karen gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "Plankton!" she cries out, catching him as he falls. Chip jumps forward, his fear turning to dread. But the sensory therapist has seen it all before. "Let him down gently, his body and his brain have just decided to take a break." "But he's not moving," Chip cries, as Karen lowers Plankton. Dr. Marla opens her bag. "It's okay," she says calmly, her voice steady. "This is called a shut- down. His body has simply had enough. But I've got some new stuff for him. I'll show you as I set it up."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 20 Dr. Marla opens her bag, pulling out an extending rod black out curtain. "It kinda looks like a shower curtain, but these curtains muffle sound and block light." Karen nods, her eyes on Plankton's still form. "We've tried things before, but this is new." Dr. Marla nods. "We're always learning, aren't we?" She unfurls the curtain around Plankton, creating a small, cozy space. "This will help him feel safe and reduce his sensory input. It's good for absence seizures too." Plankton's breathing slows as he sinks into the curtained cocoon. Dr. Marla continues. "It's like you power off a tablet to restart, and it will gradually come back on, right? That's what Plankton's doing. And as he 'reloads' he might act like a newborn seeing the world for the first time as he wakes up. Meaning he might not recognize anything, speak incoherently, etc. Plankton might take a little while to fully come back. Like a file downloads it loads info little by little until it's finished, only then can you view it; so as with Plankton's consciousness." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving her husband. Her heart aches for him, but she knows that he's safe, his body cocooned in the sensory curtain. Chip, still shaking, watches his dad, his eyes wide as Plankton's eye blinks open. His gaze is as if he's trying to relearn his body. "K-kay?" Karen smiles softly, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her hand reaching for the curtain. "Your dad's just restarting, remember?" Chip nods, his eyes glued to Plankton's form as he sits up, his eyes blinking slowly. "Hi," Chip whispers, his voice barely above a breath. Plankton's eye focuses on him, and his mouth moves, but only one word comes out: "Hi." It's a tiny victory, but Chip feels a surge of relief. He knows his dad is okay, or at least on his way back to okay. Dr. Marla nods. "It's normal for someone coming out of a shut- down to speak in single words or not at all for a while." Karen strokes Plankton's antenna. "How do you feel?" she asks softly. Plankton's gaze is vacant, his voice weak. "Sedm." Chip looks at him confused, his heart racing. "Dad?" The therapist nods. "It's normal," she says. "After a shut-down, his words may come slowly. Give him space, let him come back to us." Plankton blinks, his eye unfocused. "Mm." It's all he says, his mouth moving slightly, as if tasting the air for words. Karen nods encouragingly. "Good job," she murmurs. "You're doing great." Chip feels like he's watching a newborn learn to speak again. The therapist sits beside Plankton, her voice calm. "Would you like a new fidget toy?" "Buth," he mumbles, his eye still glazed. His brain isn't comprehending. Karen nods, her hand gently taking the toy. "It's okay," she says, her tone soothing. "You just need to relax." Plankton takes the fidget toy, his hand shaking. He clutches it, his gaze unseeing. Chip sits cross- legged, his heart pounding. He watches his dad, his mind racing. Why is he like this? He's so smart, so capable, but right now, he seems so... lost. "Thuh..." Plankton whispers. Karen nods, her voice soft. "Take your time," she says. "We're not going anywhere." Chip nods, his throat tight. "I'm here," he says, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's hand shakes, his grip on the fidget toy loosening. His eye blinks rapidly, his mind trying to come back online. "Ba-back?" he whispers, his voice tiny. The therapist, Dr. Marla, sits back, her eyes assessing. "It's normal," she repeats. "Your brain needs a moment to recalibrate." Plankton's breathing slows, his body uncurling from its defensive ball. He takes the fidget toy, his hand trembling. Karen's heart aches as she watches her husband struggle to find words. Chip's eyes are wide with concern, but he doesn't interrupt, giving his dad space. "Th-the... hash?" Plankton says, his voice barely a whisper. The therapist nods. "Good," she says. "Keep going." Plankton's hand shakes, the fidget toy clutched tightly. "Doge." Karen smiles gently. "Yes, you're getting there," she says. Chip watches, his heart in his throat. "Toy?" Plankton says, his voice a little stronger. Dr. Marla smiles. "Yes, the toy is helping," she says. "Keep playing with it." Plankton nods, his hand moving slightly as he flips the fidget toy in his hand. "Yea," he whispers. Chip watches his dad, his own hands still. He's seen Plankton in tough situations before, but never like this. It's like his mind is a computer that's been hit by a virus, trying to reboot with only basic functions. "Dad," he says, his voice filled with longing. "Can you tell me what yo-" But Plankton's gaze remains unfocused, his mouth moving slightly. "Chip," Karen says, interrupting gently. "Give him a minute, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his father. He doesn't want to leave, but he understands. He sits back, his heart racing as he watches Plankton's slow progress. Plankton's hand moves, the fidget toy spinning in his grip. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a little stronger. "Home." The word is a relief, a sign that he's coming back to them. Karen smiles, her eyes filled with love and concern. "Would you like to sit up?" she asks, her voice soft. Plankton nods, his body moving in slow motion as he sits. The curtain is still up, creating a small, safe space for him. Chip watches, scared, but he's also in awe of his dad's strength. Plankton, his hero, who's faced so much and is still here. "D-dad," he says, his voice shaking. "You okay?" Plankton's eye flicks to Chip, his mouth opening slightly. "Yeahhh." It's a simple word, but it feels like a lifeline. "Need?" he whispers, his voice strained. Karen nods, her hand still on his back. "We're here," she says, her eyes never leaving him. "We're always here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing a little more. "Th-thank," he stammers. Chip feels his heart swell with love. He's still in there, his mind just needs to recalibrate.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 21 The room is quiet, except for the soft whir of the fidget toy. Plankton's breathing evened out, his eye focusing on the spinning discs. "More?" he asks, his voice a whisper. Karen nods, her heart swelling with pride. "You're doing so well," she says, her voice gentle. "We're here for you." Chip's eyes are wet, but he nods in agreement. He wants to hug his dad, but he knows Plankton needs his space right now. Plankton's hand shakes as he holds the fidget toy, his gaze fixed on it. "Ma-more?" he asks again, his voice still a whisper. Dr. Marla nods, reaching for a weighted blanket. "Let's try this," she suggests, her tone calm. Karen helps drape it over him, the heavy material grounding him. "Ma-make it," he says, his voice slightly stronger. Chip's heart leaps at the sound. "Make what?" he asks, his voice eager. But Plankton can't quite articulate. He just shakes his head, his eye squeezed shut. "M-make," he repeats, his frustration clear. Karen nods, her hand on his shoulder. "We know you can," she says. "Ma-make it st-sto-" He stammers, his body trembling with the effort of speech. "Ma-make it stop," he whispers, his voice breaking. His gaze meets Chip's, desperation in his eye. Chip looks up at the therapist, his eyes pleading for guidance. "What do we do?" Dr. Marla nods, her expression calm. "Just keep talking to him," she instructs. "Use simple words, and let him know you're here." So Chip does, his voice softer than ever. "Dad, we're with you." Karen's eyes are wet, but she smiles encouragingly. "You're doing so good," she says, her voice barely above a murmur. Plankton's hand clutches the blanket, his breath coming in quick gasps. "Ma-make," he says again, his voice strained. "Ma-make it sto-" Karen nods, her voice soothing. "You're doing so well, sweetie," she says. "Keep going." Chip watches, his eyes filled with hope. "Ma-make it qui-et," Plankton whispers, his body still trembling. The therapist nods, understanding. "Let's turn down the lights," she suggests, her voice calm. Karen nods and moves to the switch, the room plunging into a soft glow. "Ma-more?" Plankton whispers. "Ma-make it qui-et," he repeats, his hand flapping slightly. Karen's heart aches, but she nods. "We're here," she says, her voice steady. Chip looks around, his thoughts racing. "How- how do we do that?" he asks, his voice shaking. Dr. Marla smiles gently. "Just talk to him," she says. "Keep your words simple, and use a sensory toy to help." So Chip picks up a small, squishy ball, its surface covered in bumps. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "Look." Plankton's eye sluggishly turns to the toy. "Ball," Chip says, his voice clear. Plankton's gaze flicks to the therapist, then back to Chip, his mouth moving slightly. "Bah," he tries, his voice barely a whisper. It's a start, a tentative step forward in understanding. The therapist nods. "Good," she says. "Keep trying." Plankton's hand reaches out, his grip weak. Chip places the ball in his palm, and his dad's eye light up slightly. "Bowl," he says, his voice a little stronger. It's a simple word, but it feels like a breakthrough. Chip nods, a smile spreading across his face. "Ball," he repeats, his voice encouraging. "Ball," Plankton says, his tongue wrapping around the word slightly. "Ball." It's a small victory, but it's enough to make Chip's heart soar. He picks up another toy, a plush octopus. "Dad, look," he says, his voice trembling. "Octo." Plankton's gaze shifts, his antennae twitching slightly. "Ah- pple," he says, his voice confused. "No," Chip says gently, taking the octopus. "This is octo. Octo." He shakes it slightly, the legs flailing. "See?" Plankton's eye widens slightly, his mouth forming an "o." "Ah- tto," he whispers. It's not perfect, but it's a start. Karen's hand squeezes his shoulder. "Good job, Plankton," she says, her voice filled with relief. The therapist smiles, her eyes observing them both. "Keep going," she says. "This is great progress." Chip holds up the octopus closer to him. "But-but," Plankton murmurs. Karen smiles. "You can do it." Plankton's hands are still, his gaze locked on the octopus. "Octo," Chip says again. Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his mouth moving. "Ah-tto," he tries again, his voice slightly louder. Chip's heart skips a beat. "No," he says gently. "Octo." He waves the toy in front of him. "Octo." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mouth forming the word. "Octo," he repeats, his voice stronger. Chip can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "Good," Dr. Marla says, nodding. "Keep working together." Karen's hand squeezes Chip's shoulder, pride in her eyes. Plankton holds the octopus, his hand still shaking. "Ma-make it sp-spin?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Chip nods, his hand steady. He spins one of the octopus's arms. "Spin," he says. Plankton's eye follows the spinning arm, his gaze focused. "Spin," he whispers, his tongue working the word. "Spin." His voice grows stronger, the word becoming more than just a sound. "Spin," he says, his hand tentatively reaching for an arm. "Mo- re," he whispers, his hand reaching out. Karen smiles encouragingly. "Good job," she says. "Keep talking to us." Chip nods, his heart racing. He holds up another toy, a shiny spinner. "Dad," he says, his voice hopeful. "See this?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Spin?" he asks, his voice a question. "Yes," Chip says, his voice steady. "Spin." He flips the spinner, watching the colors blur. Plankton's eye follows the movement, his mouth opening slightly. "Clis," he whispers, his voice barely audible. Karen smiles, her eyes shining. "Keep going," she says. "You're doing so well." Chip nods, his hand steadier. "Dad, watch," he says, his voice filled with hope. He picks up a small, plush star, its material soft and comforting. "Look," he says, his voice clear. "This is star." Plankton's eye flicks to the toy, his hand reaching out. "Sta," he tries, his tongue sluggish. Chip nods, his heart racing. "Yes," he whispers. "Star."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 22 Karen watches, her eyes glistening. "Keep going," she says, her voice filled with admiration. Plankton fumbles with the star, his hand shaking. "Sta," he whispers again, his voice stronger. "Sta." The therapist smiles. "This is excellent," she says. "Keep up the good work." Chip's eyes are on his dad, his mind racing with ideas for more words. "D-dad," Chip says, his voice gentle. "Look at me." Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip, his eye unfocused. "Look at me." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his antennae twitching. Karen's hand strokes his shoulder. "Come back to us," she says. "Ma-make it... Ma-make it... qui-et?" he whispers. The therapist nods. "Good job," she says, smiling. "Keep focusing on the toy." Chip holds the star closer. "This is... star," he says, his voice calm. Plankton's eye follows the toy, his hand reaching out. "Sta," he murmurs. "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "It's a star." Plankton's hand closes around the star, his grip firm. "Sta," he repeats, his voice growing stronger. Chip feels his heart swell with hope. He picks up a small, plush dolphin. "Dad," he says, his voice clear. "Look." Plankton's gaze shifts, his hand still shaking. "Dolf," he says, his voice slurred. Chip nods. "Yes, it's a dolphin. Can you say dolphin?" Plankton tries, his mouth moving slightly. "Dolf," he whispers. Chip's face lights up. "Yes," he says, his voice filled with excitement. "Dolf." The therapist smiles, seeing the progress. "Keep it up," she says. "You're both doing wonderfully." Plankton's hand clutches the dolphin, his gaze unfocused. Karen's heart aches, but she knows this is a step forward. "You're doing so good," she says. Chip nods, his eyes on his dad. "More?" he asks. Plankton's eye flicks to him, his mouth opening slightly. "Ma-make?" he whispers. Karen's hand squeezes his shoulder. "What else would you like?" Plankton's hand shakes, the dolphin dropping to the floor. "Ma-make it... K-Karen. Neeeed Karen!" Karen's eyes fill with tears, but she smiles, her voice gentle. "I'm right here," she says, moving closer. "Yo--" Plankton's body jerks slightly, his gaze shifting to her. "Ka," he whispers, his voice a plea as tears stream down his face. Karen's heart breaks, but she smiles. "I'm here," she says, her voice a lifeline. "Karen," he repeats, his hand reaching out but not recognizing her. Karen takes his hand, her eyes never leaving his. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice soothing. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye lock onto hers, his tears falling harder. "Karen," he says again, his voice a desperate whimper. Chip watches, his heart wrenched. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and lost. He picks up the dolphin, his hand trembling. "Dad," he says, his voice gentle. "This is do-" But Plankton's cry interrupts him, his body trembling. "Karen!" he sobs, his hand reaching for her. Karen takes his hand, her eyes filled with love. "You're right here," she whispers. "I'm right here with yo-" But Plankton's cries grow louder, his grip on her hand tightening. "Karen! Need Karen!" His eye is wild, his body shaking uncontrollably. Karen's heart aches as she tries to calm him, her voice steady. "You have me," she says. "I'm right here." But he's lost in his own world, his fear overwhelming his senses. "Karen," he sobs, his voice breaking. Chip's heart is in his throat, his hands clutching the dolphin toy tightly. He's never seen his dad so desperate, so lost. The therapist, Dr. Marla, watches them, her eyes knowledgeable. "It's okay," she says, her voice calm. "This is part of the process." But Chip can't help feeling helpless, his mind racing to find a way to reach his dad. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's as she speaks to him gently. "You have me," she repeats, her voice a lullaby. "I'm right here." Plankton's grip on her hand is crushing, his sobs becoming more desperate. "Karen! Ka- ren!" he cries, his body wracked with tremors. Karen's eyes fill with determination. "I know you're scared," she whispers. "But I'm here. You're sa-" Her words are cut off by another sob from Plankton. Chip feels his heart tear in two, watching his father's agony. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "We're here." But Plankton's gaze remains unfocused, his mind lost in a whirlwind of overstimulation. Karen's eyes are wet, but she keeps talking, keeping her voice steady. "You're okay," she says, her hand stroking his back. "You're safe." Plankton's body convulses, his cries escalating. "Karen!" he wails, his voice raw. "Need Karen!" The therapist nods at Karen, her gaze compassionate. "Keep going," she whispers. "This is a breakthrough." Karen's voice is a beacon in the storm. "You have me," she repeats. "You have us." Plankton's cries turn into sobs, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen's hand remains steady on his back, her heart breaking for him. "You're okay," she soothes, her voice a gentle wave of comfort. "We're right he--" But Plankton's panic doesn't abate. "Karen!" he cries out, his voice shattered. "Need Karen!" Chip feels his own tears burn his cheeks as he watches his father's pain. "Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." But Plankton's eye is wild, his mind a tempest of fear and overwhelming stimuli. Karen leans in, her face close to his. "Look at me," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "You're safe with me." Plankton's gaze shifts, his sobs quivering his body. "Safe? If with Karen safe.." Karen's hand moves to his cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear. "Look at me," she says again, her voice a soft command. "You're okay."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 23 Plankton's sobs echo through the room, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Karen," he whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen's eyes are wet, but she holds his gaze, her voice a lifeline. "I'm here," she says, her hand steady on his cheek. "You're safe." Plankton's breath hitches, his eye flickering with recognition. "Safe," he repeats, his voice a mere breath. The therapist nods encouragingly, her eyes on the two of them. "Keep going," she murmurs. "You're getting through to him." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's. "You're safe," she repeats, her tone soothing. "You're with me, and Chip." Plankton's sobs slow, his body still trembling. "Wi-with me," he whispers, his hand tightening on hers. The therapist nods, smiling slightly. "Good," she says. "Keep it simple." Karen nods, her voice steady. "You're okay, Plankton," she says. "We're right here." Plankton's breathing hitches, his body slowly calming, when Krabs barges in. Krabs hadn't seen his rival Plankton much so he thought perhaps Plankton's up to some thing big. "Alright, funny business; where are ye-" But then he sees the scene before him as Plankton once again slips into a shut-down, his body going limp in Karen's arms. Chip's eyes widen with fear, the room spinning. "Dad!" he cries. "It's okay," Dr. Marla says. Krabs freezes, his eyes taking in Plankton's state. "What in Neptune's name is goin' on here?" his voice gruff, but concerned as he never knew of Plankton's neurodisability. Karen's gaze meets his, her voice steady. "It's a sensory overload," she explains. "When his mother was to give birth, somehow his head got stuck. It was nobody's fault, just a tough delivery. But it caused his brain structure to develop differently. When he got stuck, the lack of oxygen and blood flow, along with pressure, affected the way his neurons connect. And some parts of his brain just couldn't handle the stress, dwindling and pretty much depleted the resources that were allocated for his senses and social skills." Krabs' eyes widen, his usual grumble replaced with a rare moment of sympathy. "So that's why he's always been... Neptune." he says. Karen nods, her expression calm but sorrowful. "It leads to moments like what you're seeing right now," Dr. Marla explains. Krabs looks at Plankton, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and remorse. "But he always seemed so... I'll leave ye alone." He leaves with a heavy heart. Chip wipes at his own tears, feeling a weight lifting. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "You're okay." Plankton's breathing slows, his grip on Karen's hand loosening as he rubs his eye, finally coming back to them. Plankton looks around, his gaze confused. "Huh?" he murmurs. Karen nods, smiling through her tears. "You're okay," she says again. "You had a big moment, but you're safe now." Plankton's eye finds Chip, and his expression relaxes slightly. "Where," he says, his voice still weak. Karen's voice is soft. "You're at home," she explains. "Dr. Marla is gonna get going, but you gotta new box of sensory items!" She says, deliberately leaving Mr. Krabs’s discovery out. They all knew he won't take it lightly. Dr. Marla leaves, and Chip smiles, his eyes shining. "You're all better," he says, his voice filled with relief. Meanwhile, Krabs went to his own home feeling quite conflicted with new found knowledge of Plankton's autism. He'd always seen his rival as a mere annoyance, a pebble in his otherwise smooth existence. But now, he couldn't shake the image of Plankton's desperate sobs and his own lack of understanding. Krabs sat in his dimly lit bedroom, thoughts racing as he stared at the wall. He'd never known Plankton's struggles went so deep, that his brain was wired differently. It made sense now, the way his rival would react to things dramatically. The way he'd just bluntly speak his mind. He'd just thought Plankton was weird, but now, he knew better. The next day, Krabby Patty's sales were booming, but Krabs' mind was elsewhere. He thought of what Karen told him about Plankton's birth and his autism. It was a lot to take in, but he couldn't decide how to interact whenever Plankton next comes around. He knew Plankton has no idea that he found out. As he counted his money, his heart felt heavier than the gold coins. He'd always seen Plankton as a nuisance, a constant thorn in his side. But now, he saw a different side to him. A side that was struggling, a side that was just trying to navigate a world that wasn't made for him. Krabs sighs, his thoughts deep. He knew he couldn't bring himself to mock Plankton anymore, yet he knew Plankton might be suspicious if he suddenly acts any different than their usual competitiveness. He decided to keep his newfound understanding to himself, for now, but his interactions could be more considerate. Moments later Plankton, obviously oblivious to the shift in Krabs' demeanor, attempts to steal the Krabby Patty secret formula. Krabs, still deep in thought, catches him mid-sneak by the cash register as the cashier, Squidward, read some magazine. Plankton's antennae perk up as he's caught. "Mr. Krabs," he stammers, his eye darting around. "Just... just popping in for a... uh...chat?" Plankton lied, his usual bravado apparent. Mr. Krabs looks at his rival, his expression unreadable. "Oh, I see," he says, his voice calm. Plankton didn't notice the subtlety of Krabs’s tone being a bit nicer.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 6 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Hanna pulled out a notepad from her bag. "Let's try some communication exercises," she suggested. "Karen, can you ask Plankton a simple question?" Karen swallowed hard, her voice shaking slightly. "Plankton, what color is the sky?" Plankton's hand paused in its squeezing. His eye searched the room before finally meeting hers. "Sky," he murmured, his voice a little more present. "Blue. The daytime sky appears blue because air molecules scatter shorter wavelengths of sunlight more than longer ones. The blackbody spectrum of sunlight coming into th-" "Thank you," Hanna said, her tone measured. "Now, let's try again. What does the sky look like right now?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the curtains pulled back to reveal the soft blue of the early morning. "Sky," he murmured. "Blue." His hand resumed its rhythmic squeezing of the fidget toy, a silent companion to his thoughts. Hanna nodded, scribbling quick notes on her pad. "Very good, Plankton. Now, can you tell me why you don't like to be touched?" He paused, his hand still. "Touch," he said, his voice tight. "Overwhelming." Karen clenched at his word choice. "Too much," he added. "Sensory overload." Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Okay. What about sounds? Are there any sounds that bother you?" Plankton's hand stilled on the fidget toy, his gaze drifting away. "Sounds," he murmured. "Some are too loud." He paused, his brow furrowing. "The toaster," he said, his voice filled with distress. "It hurts." Hanna made another note. "We'll have to be mindful of that," she said. "And what about light?" Plankton's hand resumed its squeezing. "Light," he murmured. "Sometimes too bright, if sudden." Hanna nodded, her expression sympathetic. "It's ok," she said. "We'll make sure the lights aren't too harsh. Now, Plankton, can you tell us what you enjoy doing?" He looked up at them, his eye searching their screens. "Read," he murmured, his voice gaining a tiny bit of animation. "Books, knowledge." "Okay," she said, her voice steady. "I'm going to set a tablet in front of you, to gauge your reactions to different sounds and sights." They sat at the dining table, Plankton's eye flicking to the new device. Hanna had downloaded various apps to help with sensory integration. "Remember, you can tell us if anything makes you uncomfortable. We're just going to start with some simple patterns and sounds." The screen lit up with colorful shapes, moving slowly and predictably. Plankton's hand stilled on the fidget toy. His eye followed the patterns, his expression unreadable. "Good," Hanna murmured, her finger swiping the screen. "Let's try some more different sights now." The patterns on the screen then shifted to a kaleidoscope of flashing lights. Plankton's eye grew wide, his hand frozen on the fidget toy. Karen watched as his gaze locked onto the screen, his body going rigid. "Plankton?" she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice. But he didn't respond. His eye remained unblinking, unmoving. Hanna's hand shot out, her finger pressing the screen to pause the app. "It's ok," she murmured. "Take deep breaths." But Plankton didn't move, his body eerily still. "What's happening?" Karen whispered, her voice trembling. Hanna's eyes darted to her notepad, scribbling furiously. "Absence seizure," she murmured. "It's common with autism. It's like his brain has gone on pause." Karen's chest tightened as she watched Plankton's unblinking eye. "What do we do?" "Stay calm," Hanna said, her voice steady. "Let it run its course. It'll be over soon." Karen's hand hovered over Plankton's shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but she held back, afraid to trigger something worse. The silence in the room was deafening, only punctuated by the soft ticking of the wall clock. Each second felt like an eternity as she waited for Plankton to come back to them. Suddenly, his eye twitched, and the tension in his body began to ease. He blinked, his gaze returning to the present, and took a deep, shaky breath. "Plankton?" Karen asked, her voice a whisper. He looked at her, his expression confused. "Are you ok?" Hanna stepped in, her voice calm and soothing. "It's all right. You just had a little seizure. It happens sometimes." Plankton's hand tightened on the fidget toy, his gaze flitting between Karen and Hanna. "Seizure," he murmured, his voice a little shaky. "Why?" Hanna's hand paused over her notepad, her expression compassionate. "It's part of the autism spectrum," she said, carefully choosing her words. "Sometimes the brain gets overwhelmed and needs a brief rest. It's nothing to be scared of, but we'll keep an eye on it. How did you feel in that moment?" Plankton took a moment to consider, his hand still squeezing the fidget toy. "Went away," he murmured. "Everything went away, yet it was all... too much. Felt like... dizzy in a blender." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's like your brain was trying to process too much, and it needed a moment to reset." She made another note. "We'll need to test sounds." They moved to the living room, where Hanna had set up a speaker. "We're going to play some noises," she said. "Tell us if any are too loud or bother you." The first sound was a gentle rainfall. Plankton's antennae twitched but he remained calm. Hanna made a note. "Good," she murmured. Next, she played a recording of people talking fast over one another. Plankton's hand squeezed the fidget toy until his knuckles whitened. "Too much," he whispered, his voice strained as he felt another absence seizure coming on. Karen's eyes grew wide with concern. "Stop," she said, her voice firm. "That's enough." Hanna nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. She reached over and turned off the speaker. "It's ok," she soothed. "We're going to take this slow." She made a note of the reaction before looking at Karen. "We need to build his tolerance, but not push him past his limits. Let's try tactile whenever his seizure completely stops."

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 8 Chip's eyes well up, his body shaking. He doesn't understand why his dad is so angry with him. He thought he was just trying to help. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I just wan–" "NO!" Plankton shouts, pushing his son away. Plankton's sobs turn to heavy breaths. Karen watches them both, her heart breaking. Chip's eyes brim with tears as he retreats, his voice barely a whisper. "But Dad..." Plankton turns to his side, his back facing Chip, his antennae thrashing violently. "I'M TRYING!" He screams into the silent room. Chip then makes the mistake of putting his hand on his dad's shoulder. "Don't touch me!" Plankton shrieks, his body jolting. The room seems to shrink around them, the tension pressing down like a heavy wet blanket. Chip feels a wave of fear wash over him. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. He moves his hand away, his throat tight. "I'm so sor—" "I SAID, DON'T TOUCH ME!" Plankton's scream reverberates through the room, echoing off the walls as his sobbing turns to anger, his body stiff as he glares at Chip. Chip jumps back, his heart racing. He's never seen his dad like this, so out of control. He looks to Karen, his eyes wide with fear. "What's happe—" "Chip," she says quickly, her voice sharp with urgency. "Give him some space. Now." She moves closer to Plankton, her hand outstretched but not touching, giving him the option. Chip nods, his face crumpled with hurt and confusion. He retreats to his own bed, his eyes on the floor. The room feels like it's closing in on them, the silence deafening. Plankton's sobs turn to angry grunts as his breaths become more pronounced. Karen sits next to Plankton, her hand hovering near his, but not touching. "It's okay, babe," she whispers. "We're here." Plankton's body tenses further. "I DON'T NEED CHIP'S HELP!" He doesn't wanna lash out, yet Karen knows he needs to let out the storm inside. She can feel the energy building in Plankton, his body a coil ready to snap. With a sudden explosion of rage, Plankton yells, "I'M THE ONE WITH A PROBLEM‽" Plankton's limbs flail erratically, his voice hoarse from screaming. Karen's heart aches for him, for the pain he's in, the pain he can't express in any other way. She needs to redirect his energy. "Plankton," she says firmly, her hand still hovering just out of reach. "Take a deep breath." But Plankton's too far gone. He starts to kick the bed, the mattress shaking as his body thrashes. Karen flinches, but doesn't move as the tantrum intensifies, his tiny fists slamming into the mattress. Karen's eyes are wide, her body tense, but she remains calm, knowing that this is part of his coping mechanism. He kicks the bed harder, his fists clenching the covers. Yet Karen remains steady, her voice calm and firm. "Hey, look at me," she instructs, her hand still hovering. "Take a deep breath with me." He doesn't move, his fists clenched in the sheets. Her voice doesn't waver. "In and out, babe. In and ou-" Suddenly, Plankton's body goes rigid. He inhales deeply, his antennae shaking with the effort. His eye snaps to hers, his breath hitching. For a moment, there's silence. Karen holds her breath, noticing he's gonna have one of his seizures. Then as Chip comes back through the curtain Plankton starts to shake as it finally took over. Karen tucks Plankton in loosely. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice shaking. Karen's eyes dart to him, filled with the knowledge that he's gonna be fine. "It's ok Chip," she whispers. "Just watch from here." Plankton's body shakes harder, his breaths coming in short bursts. He's lost in a world of sensory overload, his body reacting to the chaos around him. Karen strokes his arm gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers. "We are right here." The seizure lasts for a few moments, and as it now subsides, Plankton's body goes limp with exhaustion. Karen knew his postictal phase can bring on some loopiness. Plankton's antennae twitch erratically, his eye unfocused. He giggles, a sound so unlike his usual self. "Karen? Oh! You're so...shiny." Karen can't help but smile at her husband's post-seizure loopy state. "Yes, I'm right here," she says. Chip's eyes are wide with worry, his voice a tremble. "Is he okay?" Karen nods, her smile tinged with sadness. "He's in his post- seizure phase. It's normal for him to be like this." Plankton giggles again, his voice slurred as he tries to sit up, his body wobbly. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he mutters. He then reaches for Karen, his hand missing by a mile. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen his dad act weird before, but never like this.. "It's part of his autism, Chip," Karen explains gently, her hands steady. "After a big meltdown or usually a seizure, he can get disoriented." Plankton's head lolls to the side, his antennae twitching erratically. "You're...so...far away..." He giggles, his body swaying slightly with the effort of speech. Karen takes his hand, her eyes understanding. "You're fine." Plankton's hand shakes in hers, his eye half-closed. "No, no, I wanna... play." He giggles again, his body lurching forward. Karen sighs. "I wanna go on an adventure," he slurs, his body listing to one side. Karen tightens her grip on his hand, keeping him grounded. "We can go on an adventure later, babe," she promises. "For now, let's just get some sleep. It's bedtime for all of us!" Plankton's giggles turn into a snore, his body going limp. Karen gently guides him to lie down, his breathing evening out. She covers him with the blanket, his antennae twitching slightly.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 7 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) They moved to the floor, a cushioned area where Plankton felt more comfortable. Hanna produced a variety of textures for him to explore. "Slowly," she instructed, "let's introduce his hands to different fabrics." Karen watched as Plankton's fingers danced over the softness of velvet, his expression unreadable. Then Hanna presented a piece of sandpaper. His hand retracted instantly, his eye squeezing shut. "No," he murmured, his voice tight with distress. "It's ok," Karen said, taking his hand. "We'll try something else." She offered him a smooth piece of silk instead. His eye widened, his breath catching. "Nice?" she asked, her voice gentle. Slowly, Plankton's hand unfurled, his fingertips brushing against the fabric. "Silk," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. He began to stroke it, his movements rhythmic and comforting. Hanna nodded, making a note. "Good," she said. "That's a positive response. Now let's try different tactile sensations." Hanna says, taking the fabrics away. She presented a tray with a variety of objects: a cold metal spoon, a soft feather, a bumpy rock. Plankton's hand hovered over each item, his gaze intense. "Choose one," Karen urged, her voice gentle. He reached for the feather, his eye closing in anticipation. As the soft plumes brushed against his skin, a shiver of pleasure went through him. "Good," he murmured, his hand moving in a soothing motion. Karen watched. Hanna offered the cold spoon next. Plankton's hand jerked back at first, his eye widening in fear. But with Karen's gentle encouragement, he touched it again, his breath hitching as he experienced the coolness. "Cold," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder before retreating his hand again. They moved to the rock, its surface a study in contrasts. Plankton's hand hovered, then touched the rock tentatively. His face contorted as he felt the bumpy, unyielding surface. "Odd," he murmured. Hanna nodded, her gaze studying him. "It's ok to not like everything," she said. "But it's ok to explore." She sets out a sharpened point to test his reaction. Plankton's hand hovered over the pointed tip, his antennae twitching. He looked to Karen, his eye searching for reassurance. "It's ok," she whispered, taking the point and pressing it lightly into her own palm. "It's just a sensation I vaguely feel," Karen says, barely pressing onto his skin. Slowly, touching the point with the pad of his finger... His body jolted, his breath screeching. "Pain," he murmured, his hand retreating quickly. "Too much!" Hanna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's ok," she said. "This is all about finding what you can ha-" But before she could finish, Plankton's body stiffened, his eye rolling back with a cry. Karen watched another seizure take hold. "No!" she cried, her voice a mix of fear and frustration. Hanna was quick to act, guiding him back to the couch and speaking soothingly. "It's ok," she murmured. "You're safe." They waited for the seizure to pass, Karen's hand tightly clutching Plankton's, offering silent comfort. When he came to, his gaze was haunted, his hand still wrapped around the fidget toy. Hanna tried the point again, only for Plankton to cough up his toast, tears streaming down his face. "We need to stop," Karen said, her voice shaking. "This isn't helping." Hanna nodded, her expression filled with understanding. "We've learned a lot today," she said. "We know what to avoid now. Let's stop." They moved back to the couch, Karen's arm around Plankton, his body trembling. She knew his sensory overload was at its peak. The room felt too bright, too loud, too much. "Let's dim the lights," Hanna suggested, her voice gentle. "And let's try some deep pressure." Karen nodded, rushing to the dimmer switch and adjusting the lights to a comfortable level. She then wrapped a weighted blanket around Plankton, his body relaxing almost immediately under its embrace. His eye closed, and his breathing grew steady as the pressure helped soothe his overwhelmed senses. They sat in silence for a moment, Karen stroking his arm, avoiding any sudden movements that might startle him. "It's ok," she whispered. "You're safe." Hanna spoke softly. "It's important to create a sensory friendly environment," she explained. "We'll need to make some adjustments around the house." Karen nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "I'll do anything," she said. "Whatever it takes." Hanna's eyes searched the room, her mind working. "Let's start with visual stimuli," she said. They moved through the place, Karen following Hanna's instructions to cover the windows with blackout curtains and remove any items that might be overstimulating. The room grew dimmer, the only light coming from a single, soft lamp. Plankton's breathing slowed, his body visibly relaxing. Hanna spoke calmly. "Now, let's work on some verbal exercises." Karen watched as Hanna selected a set of cards with simple pictures and words. "We'll start with matching," she said, holding up a card with an image of a cat. "What does this say?" Plankton's eye focused on the card, his hand fidgeting with the blanket's edge. "Cat," he murmured sleepily. Hanna nodded, her gaze meeting Karen's. "Good job," she said. "Now, let's try another one." She held up a card with a picture of a tree. Plankton's eye searched the card, his mouth moving as if he was trying to form the word. "Tree," he managed after a moment, his voice slightly more confident, yet he felt drowsily exhausted. Hanna nodded, pleased with his progress. "Very good, Plankton," she said, placing the card down. "Let's keep going." But Plankton's tired. "Maybe we should take a break," Karen suggested, seeing the fatigue in his posture. "He's had a lot to process today." Hanna nodded, her gaze kind. "It's been a big day for him. Let's not push it." They decided to end the session, Karen helping Plankton to bed, the weighted blanket still wrapped around him. His eye were half-closed, his movements sluggish as he sank into the mattress, the sensory overload leaving him drained. "Thank you," Karen murmured to Hanna. "For everything." Hanna's smile was gentle. "It's what I'm here for," she said. "We'll take this one step at a time. Remember, patience and understanding are key." Karen nodded with tears as she tucked Plankton into bed. His body was still, his breaths deep and even under the soothing weight of the blanket. The room was now a cocoon of calm, designed to protect his sensitive system from the onslaught of the outside world.