𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 15 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Eventually, they pulled up into their driveway, Karen parking the car. Plankton stirred slightly, his antennae twitching as the car's engine purred to a stop. Chip's heart raced. Gently, Karen turned around, her eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and hope. "Plankton," she whispered, her hand reaching out to his arm. "We're home." Plankton's eyelid fluttered open, his antennae shooting up. His eye darted around, his mind racing to catch up with reality. With dawning horror, he realized he had fallen asleep. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he jerked away from Chip's shoulder. Plankton's hand flew to his mouth, his antennae quivering in embarrassment as he felt wetness. Chip looked at him, his expression gentle. "You ok, Dad?" he asked. Plankton nodded, his voice gruff. "Fine," he murmured, his hand still covering his mouth. The house was quiet as they entered. Karen led the way, her steps measured and calm. Plankton shuffled behind, his eye cast downward. The embarrassment of falling asleep in the car clung to him. As he went into his bedroom Plankton decided to check his social media. He then found Chip's selfie post: "Went to the park with my dad @ Sheldon Plankton today 💙👨‍👦💨 " Plankton's antennae quivered with embarrassment. He sat down, his hand still clutching the fidget toy. He scrolled to the comments on Chip's post, his heart pounding in his chest. The first comment's from Hanna, which read: "Aw, so sweet! 😍 Looks like you guys are bonding! Keep it up, @ Chip 💪🏻" Bonding? Was that what they were doing? He wasn't sure. The next one was from a user named @LoveforAll. "Sending all my ❤️✨☮️ to you and your dad, Chip! @Hanna told me about Plankton's case, as I've the same acquired autistic condition which is a rare form of Autism, so she told me. #acquiredautism" Great. Not only is his sleepy features public, but also his condition. Plankton felt a knot in his stomach, his antennae twitching with discomfort. He viewed a reply to @LoveforAll's comment, from @SpongeBob: "☹️☹️☹️ Plankton, hope you're ok buddy! 🐠💨 Sensory parks are the best! Keep fighting the good fight! 💪🏻💨 I'm born with autism, so yea." Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide with shock. He read the comment again, his mind spinning. He had never considered that his friend SpongeBob of all people might understand! The next comment was from his rival @Krabs: "Plankton?! 🦑👀 What's going on over there? Hope you're not planning any Krabby Patty stealing schemes with that fidget toy, haha! 🤑😂 #KrabsVsPlankton #Frenemies" Plankton's antennae drooped, his heart sinking. Even Mr. Krabs couldn't resist a joke at his expense. But then he saw Karen's comment, her emoji-laden response to their day out: "☮️💨💖 Such a wonderful day at the sensory park with my two boys! 👨‍👦💨👨‍👦 Proud of you both for trying new things! 💃🏻💨💃🏻 @ Sheldon Plankton sorry for the picture, love!" Putting his phone aside Plankton saw Chip come in the bedroom doorway. "Hey, I got some science homework if you'd like to..." "I'll help," Plankton interrupts. "How many pages, Chip?" "It's ok, Dad. It's just basic stuff. But if you really want to, it's only five pages." Chip sits on his dad's bed with the homework packet. Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement. He had always loved helping Chip with homework! Plankton leaned in close as Chip hands him the homework. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took the homework. "Alright," he murmured, his voice steady. "Let's start wi- Ow!" Plankton screams. He had sliced his finger on the corner of the page. The pain was intense, a sudden shock that sent his senses into overdrive. He flaps his hands. Karen rushed into the room at the sound of his distress. "Plankton, what happened?" she asked. "It hurts, it hurts," he cries, his voice desperate as he cradles the injury. The sight of his dad's pain hit Chip like a brick. "It's just a paper cut," he mumbled, his voice shaking. But to Plankton, it was a sensory assault, the pain sharp and overwhelming. He hadn't had a paper cut since before the accident, and the suddenness of it was to much. Karen's eyes widened. "Let me see," she said, her voice calm and soothing. Plankton shakily extended his hand. Her eyes took in the cut, her mind racing. They had to find a way to help him manage this pain, without causing more distress. Gently, she took the fidget toy from his other hand. "Look at this," she instructed, her voice soothing. "Let's focus on th-" But Plankton's agony was too intense, the pain of the paper cut like a siren in his mind. "Make it stop," he whispered, his eye squeezed shut in pain, his body trembling. Chip watched, his own panic rising. He had never seen his dad so overwhelmed by such a small injury. He knew his father's sensory issues were severe, but the sight of his distress was almost too much to bear. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. If only he had been more careful with the homework. Karen took charge, her eyes focused. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice calm and steady. "Look at the fidget toy, ok?" She placed it in his good hand. "Squeeze it. Squeeze it a-" But Plankton couldn't hear her over the roar of pain in his head. His entire body was trembling, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His antennae quivered with the effort of blocking out the sensory storm. Karen's mind raced. They had to get him to a calm state, to help him understand that the pain wasn't going to last. She quickly grabbed a clean cloth and gently pressed it to the cut, applying just enough pressure to stem the flow. "Look at me, Plankton," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Look at me." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching for hers. "It's ok," she whispered. "I'm here. It's just a paper cu-" But her words were drowned out by his sobs. Karen's mind raced. She needed to find a way to soothe him, to get through the chaos of sensory overload. She remembered Hanna's advice about using deep pressure to help with pain management. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, applying firm, comforting pressure. "It's ok, Plankton," she murmured, her voice steady. "I've got you." Plankton's antennae stopped quivering as he felt Karen's embrace, the pressure grounding his overstimulated mind. He took a deep, shaky breath, the pain starting to recede slightly. "It h-hurts," he managed to say, his voice still tight with pain. Chip's eyes were wide with fear, watching his dad's reaction to something so simple. He had never seen Plankton in such pain, his usually stoic father reduced to this trembling wreck. It was like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of how much had changed. Plankton's breaths grew shallower, his antennae shaking violently. The pain was unbearable, the sensations were too much. Karen's arms tightened around him. "It's ok, Plankton. It's just a paper cut. I know it hurts, but it'll be over soon." He clung to her, his body shaking with sobs. Chip watched, feeling utterly helpless. Plankton's eye darted around, searching for escape from the pain. He couldn't handle it. "Look at me," Karen whispered. "Just lo---" But Plankton's sobs overwhelmed her words. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his antennae quivering with the effort of trying to find calm. Karen's voice grew stronger, her grip on him firmer. "You're safe, Plankton. It's just a paper cut. It'll be better soon." Chip felt his own eyes well up, the fear and helplessness mirrored in his mother's gaze. Plankton's sobs started to slow, his body calming under the steady pressure of Karen's embrace. The pain was still there, a pulsing throb in his finger, but it was more manageable now as it slowly dwindled. "It's ok," she said, her voice gentle. "We're going to get through this, together." Chip watched. He had never seen his dad like this, so overwhelmed by something so small. But he knew now that for Plankton, the world was full of sensory landmines. Every moment had to be navigated with caution. Plankton's grip on the fidget toy tightened, his breaths evening out as he focused on the gentle pressure Karen applied. His antennae slowed their erratic dance. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice still shaky. Karen's eyes were filled with love and determination. "It's ok," she said, her voice a gentle caress. "We're all here for you." Slowly, Plankton leaned into her embrace with relief. He closed his eye. The pain was dimming. Chip noticed his hand slacken around the fidget toy, his grip loosening. Karen felt his weight shift against her, and she knew he was slipping into sleep. Gently, she eased him onto his bed, she covered him with the weighted blanket, his body relaxed beneath the comforting pressure. Plankton's antennae twitched once more before stillness claimed him. The fidget toy slipped from his grasp, landing silently. Karen reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Rest now," she whispered.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 18 Finally, they reach their home, Karen turning the car off with a sigh of relief. Chip watches as she carefully opens the car door, her movements slow and deliberate. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennas twitching. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice gentle. Plankton's eye opens. Home. The word echoes in his mind as his senses slowly recalibrate to the familiar surroundings. "You're okay," Chip says. "You had a seizure, but you're okay now." Plankton blinks slowly, taking in his son's face. Home. Yes, this is where he belongs. Karen helped them both unpack. And then Plankton went onto his own bed. "Hey Chip, come sit," Plankton says, patting the bed. So Chip sits carefully, his heart racing. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as his eye searches Chip's. "I'm... sorry," he says, his voice weak. "I don't know why I had a seizure but I'm okay now. So uhm, do you want to... talk?" Chip nods, his heart pounding in his chest. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing him like this, so vulnerable and open, it's both terrifying and comforting. "Sure," he says, his voice small. Plankton's antennae twitch. "I'm... I'm glad we went to the science fair," he says, his voice no longer slurred. "I know it was hard for you to see me like that." His antennae droop slightly, his one eye looking up at Chip with apology. Chip's eyes fill with tears. "Dad, you don't have to apologize," he says, his voice cracking. "I'm just happy you're okay! I love you.." Plankton's antennae perk up at the word "love," his eye focusing on Chip's face. "I-I lo-ove you too, bud," he says, his voice stronger. "I'm sorry if I couldn't show it properly." Chip wipes his tears. "It's okay," he says. "I know you do." Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "I'm not always good at it, though," he admits, his voice laced with regret. "But I try, Chip. I really... I just want you to know that." Chip nods, his throat tight. "I do know, Dad," he says. "And I'm proud of you, too." His words hang in the air like a promise. Plankton's eye met Chip's with intensity. "Why do you say that?" He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "Well, because you always try so hard," Chip responds, his words earnest. "You help me with my homework, and you always want to be there for me. But I also know it's hard for you." He pauses, his mind racing with questions he's held back for so long. "Why do you sometimes repeat words?" Plankton's antennae twitch with thought. "It's called echolalia," he says. "It's when I hear something and my brain just... repeats it. It helps me to understand better. And sometimes, it's because I'm nervous." Chip nods, his curiosity growing. "But why do you get so upset when I touch you sometimes?" He asks, his voice tentative. Plankton sighs, his antennas drooping. "It's because I have sensory issues," he explains. "Some touches feel good, but others... they're just too much. It's like my body's on fire, but I don't know how to tell it to stop." Chip's eyes widen in understanding. "So it's not just that you don't like me touching you," he says, his voice hopeful. "It's just that sometimes, it's too much for you?" Plankton nods, his antennae relaxing a bit. "Yeah," he says. "It's not that I don't love you, Chip. It's just that sometimes, my body gets overwhelmed." Chip's hand trembles slightly. "But Mom seems to be the best at it, when it comes to touching?" Plankton nods. "It's because she's been with me for so long, she's learned what I like and don't like. And she does it gently," he explains. "She knows how to make it feel right. She knows my limits." "But what about when you don't want anyone to touch you at all?" Chip asks, his eyes searching. Plankton sighs. "That's when I'm overstimulated," he explains. "It's like everything's too bright, too loud, too much. And then, even the softest touch feels like it's going to break me." His eye blinks slowly. "I might end up hurting people's feelings without meaning to." Chip nods. "But why did you get upset when I just want to help?" He asks, his voice tiny. Plankton's antennae twitch with consideration. "Sometimes, even the best intentions can be too much," he says. "My brain gets overwhelmed, and I can't process what's happening. It's like... it's like you're speaking another language and I'm trying to keep up, but my brain just can't. And then I don't know how to tell you to stop without sounding mean." "So, it's not that you don't want my help," Chip says, his voice thoughtful. "It's just that sometimes, you need to be left alone?" Plankton nods. "Yeah, buddy," he says. "But don't think I don't appreciate it. It's just... I need a little extra space to figure things out." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "What about when you get really sad or really happy?" He asks. "Why do you... stim? And why don't you like it when I notice?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he thinks. "Stimming is like my brain's way of... letting off steam," he explains. "It helps me regulate my emotions. And when you point it out, it's like... it interrupts that process. That, and I don't like to admit that I'm different sometimes," he adds, his voice softening. "But you are, Dad," Chip says, his hand reaching out to his father's. "And that's what makes you special." But Plankton leans away from his touch. "It's okay," Chip quickly says, his hand retreating. "I just want to know more." He swallows hard. "What about... when you have those meltdowns?" Plankton's antennae still, his eye focusing on Chip. "Those are... tough," he says. "They're like... my brain's way of telling me that I've had too much of something. Too much noise, too much light, too much of everything." His voice cracks. "And I... I can't always control it. And if I don't get anything to help me, it's like... I get stuck. And then I just... I just need to let it all out." Chip nods, his heart pounding in his chest. "But why do you get mad at me when I want to help?" He asks, his voice shaking slightly. Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "It's not that I'm mad at you, Chip," he says, his voice filled with sincerity. "It's just... sometimes, I don't know how to accept help. I get scared. I've had so many people in my life who didn't understand me, who thought I was just being difficult or strange." His eye blinks rapidly. "But you... I guess even though you mean well, I just get flustered when you see me like that, or I can feel rushed to explain." Chip nods, his understanding deepening. "But I want to learn more, Dad." His hand trembles as it hovers over Plankton's arm. "Is this okay?" He asks, his eyes searching his father's for permission. Plankton looks at Chip's outstretched hand, then up into his eyes, and nods slightly. "Just... just a little," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip's fingers touch Plankton's arm, gentle and tentative. The sensation doesn't overwhelm Plankton this time. "Thank you, Chip," he says, his eye softening.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 5 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Karen felt his body relax further as she read, his hand finally stilling on the book. "The fabric of spacetime," she continued, "is warped by gravity, creating singularities that swallow light." Plankton's eye grew heavier, his head lolling toward her shoulder as he starts to drift off to sleep. This was a small victory, but it was something. He had fallen asleep to her voice. With a gentle sigh, she laid the book aside and wrapped her arm around him, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. Karen felt his body go slack with sleep as she softly stroked his antennae. The quiet of the room was broken only by his soft snores, a sound she found comforting. Karen held Plankton close, his body a warm weight against hers. In the safety of their living room, with the glow of the morning light filtering in through the windows, she felt a glimmer of peace. This was the man she loved. The book lay forgotten on the coffee table, a testament to their shared love of the cosmos. But now, it was just another reminder of the gap that had grown between them. How could she navigate this new universe where Plankton was a star whose light was fading into the abyss of his own mind? Karen held him tighter, her thoughts racing. "We'll get through this," she murmured. She had to be the constant for him, the north star that guided him home. As Plankton slept, Karen couldn't help but feel a wave of determination wash over her. She would research, she would learn, she would do everything in her power to support him. But she also knew she couldn't do it alone. With trembling hands, she picked up her phone and started texting her friend Hanna. "Hey, can you come over? I know you worked with some autistics, and my husband is now on the spectrum." She hit send. The phone buzzed almost immediately. "Of course, I'll be right there. What happened?" Hanna's response was swift, her concern palpable. "I'll explain when you get here," Karen sent back. The wait for Hanna was excruciating, each minute stretching into an eternity. Plankton remained asleep against her side. She carefully extricated herself from Plankton's embrace, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket. "Just a few minutes," she whispered, kissing his forehead before rushing to answer the door. Hanna's expression was a mixture of worry and confusion as she stepped inside. Karen quickly filled her in on the bizarre turn of events, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush to be heard. Hanna listened, her gaze flitting between Karen's tear-stained face and the sleeping form of Plankton. "I've never heard of someone developing autism from a fall," she said, her voice gentle. "But the brain is an incredible organ. Let's see." Together, they approached the couch, Hanna's movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb Plankton. She sat beside him, her eyes taking in his still form. "Hey, Plankton," she said, her voice low and calm. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his gaze darting to Hanna before settling on Karen. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice groggy. "It's ok," Karen said. "This is Hanna. She's here to visit." Hanna offered a warm smile. "Hello, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "I've heard a lot about you." Plankton nodded slightly, his hand flapping once before he could stop it. "Hanna," he murmured, his voice sleep-laden. "We need your help," Karen said, her voice shaking. "Can you tell us what to do?" Hanna took a deep breath, her screen assessing Plankton's reaction. "First," she began, "we need to understand his triggers and sensitivities. It's important to create a routine that minimizes stress." With a gentle touch, she reached for Plankton's hand, watching his reaction closely. He flinched slightly, his eye widening. "Plank..." Karen interrupted. "It's ok, Hanna's a friend." She turned to Hanna. "It's ok," she said, her voice a soft command. "You can touch his ha-" But before she could finish, Plankton's hand shot up, his eye widening in panic. "No touch!" he exclaimed, his voice sharp and insistent. Karen felt a stab of pain at the rejection. Hanna nodded, withdrawing her hand immediately. "It's ok," she murmured. "I understand. We'll go slow." Karen watched as Hanna gently picked up her bag. She pulled out a small, squishy ball, the kind used for stress relief. "This is a fidget toy," she said, holding it out to Plankton. "Would you like to try it?" Plankton's gaze fixated on the ball, his hand reaching out tentatively. His fingers closed around it, squeezing experimentally. "Ball," he murmured, his voice a little less frantic. Hanna watched him, her screen filled with professional curiosity. "It's called a fidget toy," she said. "It can help with stress and focus." Plankton's hand closed around the ball, his knuckles whitening. He began to squeeze it rhythmically, his gaze locked on the movement of his fingers. Karen watched, her heart in her throat, as Hanna continued to speak in soft, soothing tones. "Good job, Plankton," she coaxed. "Keep playing with that. It can help calm your nervous system." Hanna's screen met Karen's, filled with a silent understanding. This was going to be a long road.

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.

𝖬𝖸 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢 𝖣𝖠𝖣 Pt. 15 by NeuroFabulous Karen's eyes are on her husband, her heart aching for him. She knows his meltdowns are not a personal attack, but a result of his autism. Chip watches, his eyes full of confusion and fear. He's never seen his dad so upset before, so out of control. It's a stark contrast to the usual stoicism Plankton wears like armor. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart racing as he watches the man he's always looked up to crumble in front of him. He wants to help, to make it right, but he's afraid to move. Plankton's sobs fill the room, his body trembling against Karen's embrace. Karen continues to rub his back in the pattern he finds comforting. Chip sees the love in her features as she holds Plankton. Chip watches, his heart heavy. He's never felt so helpless in his life. His dad, so strong, so smart, reduced to this by a simple misunderstanding. He wipes his eyes, feeling the weight of his ignorance. He doesn't know the right words, the right touch, the right anything to make his dad feel better. All he can do is stand there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Karen whispers to Plankton, her voice low and steady. "You're okay," she says. "It's okay to feel upset." Her words seem to resonate with him, and he nods slightly. Chip remains a silent observer, his eyes flicking between his mom's calming presence and his dad's distressed state. He can see the love in Karen's eyes, the way she holds Plankton like he's made of glass, and he wishes he knew how to offer that same comfort. Plankton's sobs begin to subside, his breathing steadying. Karen continues to whisper to him. "You're okay," she says, her voice soft. "You're safe." Chip watches, his eyes still on his dad, his mind racing. He doesn't know how to fix this, but knows he can't just stand there. He takes a tentative step forward, his hand outstretched. "Dad," he says, his voice unsure. "Can I..." But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering. "No," he says, his voice still thick with emotion. "Not now." Karen looks at Chip, her eyes filled with understanding. Chip nods, his hand falling back to his side. He steps back, giving his dad the space he needs. He watches as Plankton slowly calms, his breathing evening out. Karen continues to stroke his arm, her eyes never leaving his face. The silence in the room is thick, punctuated only by Plankton's occasional sniffs. Chip's mind is racing with questions, but he knows now's not the time. He looks down at the floor, his thoughts swirling. Karen's eyes are on her husband, her heart full of love and a quiet determination. She knows Plankton needs time, space to process his overwhelming emotions. Chip shifts his weight, his body reflecting his internal stress. Slowly, Plankton's sobs subside, his body relaxing slightly in Karen's embrace. His breathing evens out, his hands still. He opens his eye, looking at Chip with a mix of anger and sadness. Chip's heart breaks a little more at the sight of his dad so vulnerable. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice quiet. "I just wanted to be there for you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. "I know, Chip. But don't just barge in like that." Karen nods, her eyes meeting Chip's. "He's right, sweetie. Stims are personal. You need to ask before you touch him or his things." Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad. "But how do I help?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's antennae twitch, his expression softening a bit. "You can't help me like that," he says. "But you can listen, you can learn." Karen nods, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "We all need to learn," she says, her voice gentle. "But you're already doing so much, Chip." Plankton's antennae quiver as he looks at his son. "I don't need you to fix me," he says. "I just need you, to... get it." Chip nods, his eyes wet. "I'm trying, I really am." Plankton nods. Karen hugs them both. "Now, let's get a good night's sleep; because we are gonna go on a road trip to my good friend Hanna's, first thing in the morning! Before you ask, she does not know about your father's autism. And yes, Plankton, we have your travel box of sensory items in the car.." Plankton nods, his body still tense. "Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."