𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 7 by NeuroFabulous "Hey, Chip," Karen said, sitting beside him. "You know, your dad loves you more than anyth—" But Chip's voice was small, filled with doubt. "But he was so mad," he whimpered. Karen wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. "I know, sweetie," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "But he's just tired and overwhelmed." Chip leaned into her embrace, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "But why does he get so close to you, and not me?" Karen's heart clenched at his question. She knew how much Plankton loved their son, but autism didn't always make it easy to show it in the ways Chip understood. "Sweetie, your dad's brain just works a little differently. Sometimes when he's overwhelmed, he needs to be close to me. We've been together for a long time, and I know how what can or cannot upset him." Chip nodded, his cheek pressed against her side. "But what about me?" he asked, his voice muffled. "You're his son," Karen said, her voice filled with conviction. "You're a part of him. And he loves you so much. Eventually you'll understand each other as you learn more about his autism. Just be patient." With those words, she stood up and tucked him in his bed, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "We love you, Chip," she whispered before turning off the lights. "Good night.." Going back to her own bed, she could still hear Plankton's faint snores coming from their shared bedroom. Chip lay in the dark, his thoughts racing. The conversation with his mom played on repeat in his head. He hadn't meant to hurt his dad. He just wanted to know. Chip went into his parent's bedroom. He approached the bed quietly, not wanting to disturb his dad. Plankton was fast asleep, his snores now rhythmic and steady. His antenna twitched slightly, and Chip wondered if he was having a dream. "Mom, can I sleep by him?" he asked, his voice a whisper. Karen looked at her sleeping husband, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and worry. "I think that's a good idea," she said, her voice low. "Just make sure to keep your distance, okay?" Chip nodded solemnly, his eyes on his dad. He climbed into Plankton's bed, careful not to jostle him. He lay down, his tiny body next to his father's. Plankton's snores filled the room, a comforting lullaby. Chip watched him sleep, his expression a mix of fear and love. He reached out tentatively, his hand just barely touching Plankton's arm. His dad didn't stir, his breathing even. Chip studied him, his thoughts racing. Autism, stims, seizures. It was a lot to take in. He wanted to understand, desperately. But his dad's fear and anger had left a sour taste in his mouth. He felt like he was navigating a minefield of emotions and words he didn't quite grasp. He watched Plankton's chest rise and fall with his breath, his antennas twitching slightly in his sleep. He lay there, his hand still on Plankton's arm, until his own eyelids grew heavy. He didn't know how to fix things, but being close to his dad felt like a start. The next morning Chip woke up first. He heard Plankton stirring beside him. "Hey, Dad," Chip whispered, his voice filled with nerves. Plankton's eye opened, his gaze unfocused for a moment before settling on Chip. He took a deep breath, his antennas waving slightly. "Hi, Chip," he said, his voice hoarse from sleep. "How are you doing?" Chip sat up, his expression tentative. "I'm okay," he said, his voice small. "Are you okay?" Plankton nodded. "I'm fine," he said. He turned to look at Chip, his eye searching for any sign of anger or fear. But all he saw was his son's sincere concern. He took a deep breath. "What you saw yesterday, my stims, my meltdowns, my seizures, they're all part of my autism. It's like my brain has its own special rules, and sometimes it gets overwhelmed." Chip nodded, his hand still on Plankton's arm. "I didn't know," he said, his voice filled with remorse. "I just didn't know what to do." Plankton's expression softened. "But now that you know, we can talk about it." Chip looked at his father, his curiosity outweighing his fear. "What do your seizures feel like?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton paused, his face contorted in a frown as he searched for the right words. "It's like being in a bubble," he finally said. "Everything is muffled and distant. It's like my brain has shut down for a bit. But I can still feel pain." Chip nodded, trying to imagine what that may feel like. "And the tics?" he asked. Plankton took a deep breath. "The tics are like tiny explosions in my brain," he explained, his voice calm. "They're little movements or sounds that I can't always control. It's like my brain's way of letting out some steam." Chip nods. "But why do you get mad when I ask about it?" he questioned, his eyes searching his father's face. Plankton's antennas twitched as he considered his son's question. "I get mad because it's hard," he admitted. "Having autism means sometimes I can't control things, and it's frustrating. Like when I stim, it's usually just some restlessness so I'll move or mumble to myself, for myself only. So unless you offer help when I'm in distress, try not to make much note of them. Same with the tics, which usually happen after a seizure. But if you're concerned, inform your mother; she knows.." Chip felt a weight lift off his chest. "Okay, I understand," he said, his voice earnest. "But what about when you're upset? Like yesterday?" Plankton's expression grew serious. "When I'm upset, it's like my brain's on overload," he said. "I can't always control how I react. And when I'm angry, it feels like my thoughts are racing so fast that I can't keep up. Sometimes, the only way I know how to express it is through sarcasm or yelling. Your mom helps by knowing when to approach me, or when to redirect my energy. But I just am reacting to something and may need space." Chip nodded, his eyes studying his father's face. "But you're not mad at me?" he asked, his voice small. Plankton sighed. "Well last night I was actually upset with you personally because of what you said. But sometimes sensory bombardment can get me frustrated. It all depends." Chip felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice low. "I just heard kids at school say tha-" But Plankton cut him off. "I know," he said. "And I'm still hurt by it. People have said that to me throughout school, people I didn't even like; it still upsets me, and then you said it.." Chip felt his heart sink. "But I didn't mean it like that," he protested, his voice shaking. "I just didn't know what to call it.." Plankton's expression softens slightly. "I know you didn't, Chip," he said. "And that's why we're talking now. Autism is a neurodisability. You can refer to it as a condition, or just say autistic." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "But what do you want me to do when you're coming out of a seizure?" Plankton thought for a moment. "Just be there," he said finally. "You can support me at my pace. But let your mom handle me at first. She knows what to do." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with determination. "Okay," he said. "But I want to learn more. Can you tell me more about your autism?"

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 8 by NeuroFabulous Plankton sighed, his antennas drooping slightly. He knew this conversation was important, but the effort it took to explain something so deeply personal was exhausting. "Some things that don't bother others, like noise or lights, can really make my brain go haywire. And sometimes, like yesterday, I just can't process it all and I have a seizure." Chip nodded, his hand still on his dad's arm. "And the stims?" he prompted. Plankton looked away, his eye darting around the room before focusing back on Chip. "The stims are like...it's like my brain's way of releasing energy," he said, his antennas twitching slightly. "But usually, I don't like to talk about them, because it's personal. It's just how I try dealing with things." Chip nodded, trying to absorb all this new information. "What if I see you having a seizure?" he asked, his voice filled with anxiety. Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "If I'm having a seizure, don't touch me," he instructed. "Just keep talking to me. Sometimes I can hear you, even if I can't respond. And make sure to tell your mom since she knows what to do to help me through it." Chip nodded, his thoughts racing. "But what about when you're upset?" he asked. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennas twitching. "When I'm upset, I might need some space," he said. "But you can always ask your mom for help. She's really good at knowing what to do." Chip nodded, his understanding growing. He leaned in closer to his dad. "I want to help," he said firmly. Plankton leaned away. "You can help by not staring at me," Plankton replied, his voice tinged with irritation. "And by not asking me to stop doing things that help me cope." Chip felt a pang of disappointment, but he understood. "Okay," he agreed. "But I want to know when it's okay to talk about it, so I can help," he said, his voice determined. Plankton looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You can talk about it when I bring it up or if I'm in need of concern," he said. "But don't force it. It's a sensitive topic." Chip nodded, his eyes studying his dad's face. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "But I want you to know, Dad, that I love you no matter what." Plankton's antennas twitched again, and he swallowed hard. He wanted to say it back, but the words just wouldn't come. "I know you do, Chip," he managed. He knew his son was waiting for the return of his love, but Plankton's brain was stuck in a loop, unable to articulate his feelings. Chip looked at him, his eyes searching. He wanted to hear those three words so badly. Plankton felt the pressure building up in his chest. He knew Chip was waiting, expecting, but his brain was in a maelstrom of thoughts and sensations, each one fighting for his attention. "I... I... I," he stuttered, his antennae waving erratically. Chip looked at him, his eyes filled with hope and concern. "Dad?" he asked, as Karen stirs from her sleep. "Good morning," Karen says. Plankton took a deep breath, willing the words to come. "I... I..." Karen had a confused look on her face. "What's going on, Chip? Plankton?" Chip looked down at his hands, which were clutching the blanket. "I just told him I love him," he murmured. "But he's... I don't know.." Karen sat up in bed, seeing the look on her husband's face. "Plankton, sweetie," she said softly. "It's fi—" But Plankton's face contorted with effort. "I-I...I," Plankton managed to get out. Karen's gaze softened as she watched her husband and son. She knew that Plankton felt the love, but his autism made expressing it on demand difficult. "Hey," she said gently, "it's ok."