#Invader Zim fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatonegeekygirl · 2 years ago

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He Fought the Law (And the Law Lost): IZ Fanfic

this oneshot takes place in my strange but true au, so its zadf with good but still chaotic zim and teen dib! i started out writing this as crack, and it kind of stayed crackish, but also segued into fluff and a bit of angst. i possess 2.7% understanding of the american justice system so sorry if thats all nonsense, i am so, so welcome to suggestions. crossposted on wattpad. idk what else to say here?? have fun reading ya'll!

Dib woke up to a cheery Saturday morning, nowhere to be, and the smell of bacon drifting up from the kitchen downstairs. He stretched and yawned, his too-big UFO pattern blue pajamas hanging from his reaching arms. Gaz repeatedly claimed that too-big UFO pattern blue pajamas were an embarrassingly childish thing for a 17-year-old to own. Dib repeatedly ignored her. He’d gone his whole life tuning out the people telling him he was a weirdo, and he wasn’t about to stop now. He grabbed his glasses from the side table, kicked his feet loosely over the side of the bed, and stood.

“Dib! Breakfast!” His sister's insistent voice yelled from downstairs.

“Coming!” Dib called back, picking his third pillow off the ground where it had fallen in the middle of the night, and throwing it back on the bed. He grinned as it landed perfectly in position between the two larger pillows. Well, if the whole paranormal thing doesn’t work out, at least I have competitive bed making as a fallback plan. He snickered to himself and padded to the door. He turned the knob and walked through the threshold, sniffing scents of bacon and egg hanging in the air, and–

I am an alien I am an alien I am an alien I am an alien–

The ringtone was a single lyric from the song Alien–surprise, surprise– repeated over and over again, and Zim despised it. Whenever he was reminded of its existence in Dib’s Short Angry Space Man phone contact he flew into a paranoid rage, ranting about how the humans may ‘grow suspicious’ or ‘connect the dots’ and snatch him up for experimentation. Dib replied to this with ‘they won’t connect shit’, and Zim neither appreciated the sentiment nor understood the reference. Dib crouched and fumbled about in his jeans’ pocket for a long moment before lifting the jeans off the floor and shaking them until the stubborn phone fell out of them. He picked it up and accepted the call, quirking a smile at the profile picture displayed on the screen–a blurred Zim with an enraged expression which Dib had taken after calling the Irken ‘shorter than the dwarfs’ in the Lord of the Rings movie they’d been watching.

“Hey, Zi–” “DIB!”

Dib winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. “C’mon, man!”

“The angry blue humans have taken me hostage!”

Having gotten good at reading between the lines with Zim, Dib replied, “You’ve been arrested?”

“If that's what you Earthlings call shoved in a flashing vehicle, handcuffed to an infuriatingly dull adult human, dragged into a crumbling concrete building, and forced to stand in front of a striped wall while being assaulted by blinding lights before being tossed into a crowded, disgusting, primitive holding cell, yes,” Zim spat. Dib rolled his eyes at the sneer in the alien’s voice and said, “Settle down. What’d you do to get in trouble with the police? Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t even want to know.”

“Cease your worrying, human, there were no casualties! Not today, anyhow,” Zim said. “GIR and I were out purchasing the new flavor of Suck-Monkey–the reason for his love of those things is beyond me–and as we were exiting the establishment these two security drones appeared, took GIR away, and Irken-handled me into their whining car!”

“That's weird…I’m pretty sure it's illegal to arrest minors like that…you were wearing your disguise, weren’t you?” Dib asked, suddenly worried.

“Of course I was wearing my disguise, Dib,” Zim answered snidely. “What do you think I am? A human?”

“Nothing like some extraterrestrial racism to start off the day…” Dib muttered to himself. “Okay, Zim, I’m coming down to the station. I’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Do you know where they took GIR?”

“Do I look like a floogaschmog to you!? No I don't know where GIR is! If it weren’t for these confounded witnesses everywhere I’d–SHUT UP!”

“Jeez, Zim, I didn’t even say anything–”

“You and the other pitiful policing man informed me I had one phone call, you never specified the length of time it had to encompass!” Zim’s voice screeched, slightly muffled, as if he had pulled the receiver away from his mouth. “Well ya shoulda thought of that before you gave me the phone, moron!” A pause. “I don’t care if you're going to ‘be in deep shit’ with your superior! DON’T TOUCH THE PHONE OR ZIM WILL BITE YOUR POINTING DIGIT OFF!”

Another pause, and then an annoyed huff blew from the line. “Insolent human. Anyway, GIR is in no danger, no matter where they took him. He’s nearly indestructible and equipped with top of the line Irken laser cannons and numerous knock-out drugs. Whether or not he possesses the presence of mind to employ them, however, is an entirely different problem...”

“Alright,” Dib sighed. “I just have to get dressed and I’ll head over. You really have no idea what you’ve been taken in for?”

“Not a flu.”

“The phrase is ‘not a clue’, idiot.”

“ZIM IS NEVER WRONG! Goodbye, Dib.”

The line went dead.

Dib pinched himself once to make sure he wasn’t just experiencing a particularly vivid nightmare, groaned when nothing happened, and shuffled to his closet to pull on some clothes.

__________________________________________

“Dib! If you don’t get your ass down here I’m eating your bacon!” Gaz yelled.

Dib half dashed, half jumped down the stairs, tugging on a red plaid sock. “You can have some of it,” he said, slipping into the kitchen. “I don’t have a lot of time to eat. Zim’s gotten himself arrested.”

“Took them long enough.” Gaz smirked, grabbing a piece of Dibs bacon out of the pan on the table. “What was he doing up so early on a Saturday morning?”

“It's 10:30,” Dib mumbled around his toast.

“And a Saturday.”

“...I concede to your point. GIR wanted the new Suck-Monkey flavor, y’know, pineapple rosemary or something along those revolting lines. He probably saw it in an ad during his early morning cartoons. You know how he can get with that sort of thing…”

Dib and Gaz shared a knowing look.

“That was a dark day.” Gaz nodded solemnly.

“Well, Zim did something at the wrong time and place and now he’s locked in a holding cell. Hopefully this is all just some big misunderstanding, like they thought Zim was a lost kid, or he’s reading the situation wrong,” Dib rambled, “but whatever it is, I don’t have much faith in Zim’s ability to get himself out of it in a way that doesn’t involve bribery or murder, so instead of watching the latest Mysterious Mysteries, I’m dealing with a deranged alien and a couple of irritated government employees.”

“How do you know they’re irritated?” Gaz asked.

“I’d assume that if someone called you a moron and threatened to amputate your finger, you’d be irritated too,” Dib huffed, grabbing his blue zip-up hoodie off a chair and his car key from the key rack. “Dad! I’m going out!”

“Don’t drink and drive, son!” Membrane called from the depths of his downstairs lab.

“It’s a sunny Saturday morning and the only friend I have to peer pressure me into drinking alcohol is an insane 170 year old alien,” Dib grumbled under his breath. “But thanks for the advice, Dad.” He swallowed the last of his toast and grabbed a second piece of bacon. “See ya later, Gazlene.”

“Good luck!” she yelled after him as he tromped out the door. “And don’t call me that!”

Dib shoved the second piece of bacon in his mouth. Technically, the handsome blue truck parked in their driveway did not belong to him. Technically, it belonged to his dad, but his dad never drove it–he preferred to take the massive white van containing a full-blown lab in the back and bearing the Membrane Labs logo on the side–so Dib had largely free-reign over it. Exempting the times Gaz demanded he loan it to her to practice her driving. It was a small truck, nothing like the behemoths that Dib occasionally saw dragging trailers or boats through town, and a well-loved one. Candy wrappers and empty cans were scattered about the backseat, numerous paranormal stickers dotted the outside, and various and assorted stains of unknown origin–cough cough GIR cough cough–coloured the interior. The cover for the hazard button had fallen off, claw marks left by an anxious Zim lined the bottom of the passenger seat, and the center console was filled with wads of cash and odds and bobs picked up from his past adventures. In the covered trunk Dib stored a plethora of investigating equipment, everything from wildlife cameras to satellite dishes, just in case he caught a big break and didn’t have time to grab his main gear from the house.

Dib pressed the unlock button on the key and the truck honked and flashed once. He yanked open the driver door, slid into the seat, and started the engine in one smooth motion. He then proceeded to spend a solid 20 seconds fumbling about with the seatbelt. Once he’d finally got it clicked in properly, he backed out of the driveway with all the care of someone who’d accidentally knocked over multiple lawn ornaments and mailboxes. Really, once he was on an actual road, he was a great driver. Honestly.

Fortunately, it seemed to be one of those Saturdays when no one wanted to leave the house and the roads were mostly empty. A few stray bicyclists wound their lazy way down the main street, and Dib had an awkward confrontation with a silver Soobaroo at a four-way stop, but either than that the trip was uneventful, if a little rushed. Four minutes over the allotted time he’d given Zim, Dib pulled into the parking lot of the police department. Patting himself down just to make sure he hadn’t accidentally put a bomb in his pocket when he wasn’t paying attention, he took a breath and exited the car. He nervously swallowed once, before opening the glass door and heading into the bowels of government agency. He’d spent plenty of time trying to get into the station to expose Zim, but that seemed an easy task compared to that of getting the alien out without doing so.

The inside of the building was friendly enough. The wall to his left was lined with pamphlets advertising various help centers and safe drinking habits, and the glass window was covered in flyers for local businesses and performances. Past another set of glass doors lay a receptionist’s desk. After a moment's consideration, he pushed past them and walked up to it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Good morning, sir, what can I help you with?” The receptionist, a young man with blond hair, asked.

“I’m here to see my friend? He was arrested earlier this morning? His name is Zim,” Dib explained uncertainly.

“Ah, you must be Dib,” the man said, “come with me.”

He stood and motioned for Dib to follow him. He led him down a long corridor, down a set of stairs, and up to a locked door. He unlocked it with one of the keys hanging from his belt and gestured for Dib to enter.

Inside was a desk, two police officers, a man in a suit, three chairs, and a very angry Zim. He was sitting in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs and was also handcuffed, a thing he didn’t seem at all happy about. As he said he had been, Zim wore his disguise. However, he was not just wearing his wig, contacts, and pink uniform, but also a pair of those cheap, slapstick glasses with bushy black eyebrows, a tiny square mustache, and an obnoxious large plastic nose.

Dib, tired and utterly confused, had just enough brain power to deduce that the glasses may have had something to do with Zim’s current arrested state.

“Sit down,” the man in the suit said.

Dib complied, wincing as the hard plastic of the third chair dug into his spine.

“My name is Constable Buckley. You may call me Constable,” the man in the suit said. “You and Mister Zim are friends, correct?”

“Yes…” Dib replied, still staring at Zim.

“Then perhaps you can shed some light on why, exactly, he was recently charged with kidnapping?”

This startled Dib out of his stupor. “He’s been what!?”

“I take it you were not aware of this until now.” Constable eyed him.

“No!” Dib shrieked. He whipped his head back around to boggle at Zim. “We really need to get your information sharing priorities straight!”

“How was I supposed to know!?” Zim hissed back.

“Quiet, please!” Constable boomed. “Listen up. Unless it is quickly proved that Mister Zim is not guilty of these allegations, he will go to court.”

That was not good. Zim in court was the last thing they needed. He’d probably piss off the judge and jury so much with all his insults and overbearing attitude it wouldn’t matter if he was guilty or not. Best case scenario, he went to prison for a long time. Worst case scenario, he outed himself as an alien and Dib never saw him again.

“Okay. Okay…deep breath, Dib,” he muttered to himself. “Why exactly is he being charged with kidnapping?”

“Mister Zim was seen leaving the gas station on 4rd Street with a young child wearing a green dog onesie, looking aggressive and generally shady,” Constable explained. “Officers Carp and Chinook intercepted him and asked the child if the man he was with was his parent or guardian. The child, we now know his name to be Gyr, replied, quote, ‘Naw!’. Carp and Chinook, just to be certain–kidnapping is a serious charge, you know–asked Mister Zim if he was Gyr’s parent or guardian. Mister Zim replied, quote, ‘Ugh, of course not! Leave Zim be!’. This prompted my officers to arrest him and take Gyr into their custody.”

“You two have GIR!?” Zim cried, twisting around to glare daggers at the officers standing behind him. “Why, you–”

“MISTER ZIM!” Constable roared. “If you do not behave I will be forced to return you to your cell!”

Zim settled back in his seat and attempted to cross his arms haughtily, a task made difficult by the handcuffs. Eventually he gave up and settled for clenching his hands in fists by his sides.

“Thank you,” Constable said. “Now, is there anything you can think of, Dib, that may prove Mister Zim’s innocence?”

“Oh, just one thing…” Dib reached out and ripped the glasses off of Zim.

A collective gasp filled the room. Surprised and horrified ones from the police, and a pained and furious one from Zim as the tape holding the glasses on his face was mercilessly torn off.

“Good God…” Constable muttered, mouth hanging open.

“Zim is not a forty year old man!” Dib cried. “He’s a kid with a horrible skin condition and a mean streak! I mean really, he's like four feet tall.”

“But…Gyr?” One of the officers asked timidly.

“My brother!” Zim shrieked as Dib eyed him meaningfully. “GIR is my little brother. He wears the green dog suit in, eh, a gesture of solidarity to my own green affliction. Being a foolish little worm baby I did not realize I should respond to your inquiry with ‘he is my brother’!”

“Do you have any way to prove these statements?” Constable asked, eyes wide.

“Er…” Dib picked at a nail worriedly.

“Yes!” Zim jabbed a finger in the air and growled when the handcuffs inadvertently pulled his other hand up with it. A whirring noise emanated from his PAK for a moment, followed by a cheerful ding. Zim handed Constable a short stack of neat papers. For once Dib was beyond relieved that no one else noticed the robotic appendage folding back into Zim’s PAK. “Here’s your proof, officer man.” Zim grinned smugly. “Mine and GIR’s passports and certificates of bornth!”

Dib was struck with the nearly uncontrollable urge to hit him. Fortunately, the police didn’t seem to notice the slip up.

“Everything seems to be in order…” Constable murmured, with the air of someone utterly bewildered, flipping through the forms.

“Thank you,” Zim said, pleased.

“...well, I suppose you’re free to go,” the man continued. “I’ll have Kyle bring Gyr around front to meet you. Apologies for the bother, Membranes.”

Dib’s brain took a long moment to turn over this piece of information as Constable unlocked the handcuffs from a smirking Zim’s hands and opened the door for them.

“Onward, Dib-thing!” Zim grabbed Dib’s arm and grinned. “I believe there is still enough Saturday left to make some floppy sugar disks!” Dib found himself being tugged out of the stuffy room, back down the blank hallway, and out the glass doors into the sunlight.

“Zim…” Dib started uncertainly.

“GIR!” Zim cried, upon seeing the robot. GIR, decked out in his green dog disguise, was being led out of the station towards them by two ruffled officers, both covered in crayon and some mystery liquid, looking like they’d just seen war.

“Mister!” GIR shrieked back, rushing forward and into Zim’s waiting arms. Dib had managed to convince GIR to call Zim Mister instead of Master, after having had a long and tedious discussion with Zim about the various reasons why this was a messed up thing to have happening.

“GIR, did they do anything to you?” Zim asked, looking the robot up and down with scrutiny.

“Nope!” GIR replied cheerfully. “We played with the colors and they gave me a new Suck-Monkey and then I threw it up on em!”

“That’s my GIR!” Zim grinned. “Now let’s go, Dib has come to take us home. We’re going to make floppy sugar disks!”

“They’re called pancakes,” Dib corrected slowly, train of thought finally arriving at the station. “And Zim, what last name, exactly, did you put on those documents?”

“Membrane,” Zim answered blithely. “That is your last name, yes?”

“Yes…” Dib nodded. “But why did you use it?” “You’re always telling me not to use The Human for my middle and final names, so I used yours instead,” Zim explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do realize that makes us legally brothers, right?” Dib asked weakly, unlocking the car with an absentminded movement.

“Of course I realize that, Dib-thing.” Zim waved a hand in the air. “According to my studies in Urth customs, people living together and/or spending long periods of time in each other's company often become honorary members of their respective family units. Since we fill both of these fields to different extents, I deemed it reasonable to claim the Membrane name for ease of forging documents and simplicity when explaining our relationship.”

“...true,” Dib admitted. Zim tossed GIR into the backseat of the car and clambered in after him, feet not even close to touching the floor as he settled in the passenger seat.

“Won’t people be suspicious that my Dad suddenly has two more children than before?” Dib questioned, still not quite comprehending the implications of this recent turn of events.

“I doubt the masses will take any notice to GIR and I. As of now I don’t plan on making any public announcement or anything so they likely won’t even know we’re carriers of the Membrane name at all. And if they do grow suspicious, I’ll just show them the adoption papers and no one will be the wiser,” Zim explained smugly. “Do you think your father will mind?”

“No,” Dib replied, turning on the truck. “GIR, buckle up.” GIR wrestled with the seatbelt for a moment until Zim huffed loudly and scrambled into the back to help him. “He seems to have taken a liking to you,” Dib continued, as Zim forced the clip into the lock. “And he knows you’re an Irken, so we can just tell him it’ll help keep your cover from being blown and he’ll be all for it.”

“Good,” Zim said, leaping back into his seat and putting on his own seatbelt. “I’d hate to damage my relationship with the Professor in a battle for his name.”

“...adoption papers?” Dib muttered as an afterthought.

“Forging signatures is one of my specialties,” Zim gloated.

Dib stared out the windshield. The car was running and the road was clear, but he remained in the same spot. Zim raised an eyebrow, or rather the space where an eyebrow would have been, and gave Dib an incredulous look.

“Zim…” Dib said after an uncomfortably long pause. “You and GIR are my brothers now.”

“An accurate statement,” Zim nodded.

“You’re sure about this?” Dib prompted, turning to look at Zim.

“Sure I’m sure,” Zim answered proudly, then hesitated, a worried expression crossing his face. “...have I misstepped in some way? I can always null the documents…”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Dib laughed, breaking out in a grin. “I'm happy to have you two as adopted brothers.”

Zim grinned back. “Surprisingly, I’m happy to have you and Gaz as adopted siblings.”

“Surprisingly?” Now Dib raised an eyebrow.

“Irkens are not typically able to form emotional bonds,” Zim explained, “the ability to experience things like love and fondness are programmed out of our PAKs as smeets. It seems likely that my PAK’s…defective, nature,” he squirmed at the word, “has allowed me more freedom in this and other regards. You have that to thank for our friendship.”

“Well, I know what is seen as ‘defective’ on Irk is normal on Earth,” Dib said softly. “So I’m glad we got the Irken different from the rest. And I’m glad I can call myself your friend.”

“You humans and your glarking emotions,” Zim muttered, running a hand under his eye and wiping the suspiciously wet smear on his uniform. “Drive, Dib! We must get home in time to make the disks!”

“Alright, alright!” Dib laughed. “I’m going!” He pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the street. It was just as quiet on the roads as before, so Dib relaxed his vigil a bit and admired the beautiful day outside.

“Oh, and Zim,” he said. “It's birth, not bornth.”

“Wrong!” Zim declared. “It's definitely bornth.”

“Dude, if you’re going to be a Membrane we’re going to have to work on your grammar. You can’t just be a tech genius, you’ve got to fit the whole part!” Dib gestured grandly with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel and ignoring his Dad’s voice telling him to always keep both securely holding it.

“It is not my fault your cursed Urthen language holds up against next to zero laws of logic,” Zim complained. “Irken is twice as complex but a schmillion times more sensical!”

“If it’s easier to understand than English, maybe you can teach me,” Dib suggested. “Y’know, as compensation for stealing my name.”

“Nuh uh, you said you were pleased that I have your name, Dib!” Zim pointed out gleefully. “My company is all the compensation you need.”

“Compensation, my ass!” Dib squawked, amused.

“Although,” Zim continued, ignoring Dib’s outburst. “Perhaps I will teach you anyway. It has been some time since I’ve conversed with someone in my own tongue. GIR does not count. And, if all else fails, it shall be entertaining to observe your attempts at pronunciation.”

“Glad I have your confidence, Zim.��

A comfortable quiet filled the car.

“Why the heck were you wearing those crazy glasses?” Dib asked, the thought striking him. “That was weird, even for you.”

Zim’s silence prompted Dib to glance at him. Zim was twiddling his thumbs and avoiding Dib’s eyes. “No reason,” the Invader said.

“Sure, sure. No reason at all. You were wearing ugly, wackadoo prop glasses with a gross fake nose and eyebrows for no reason,” Dib said casually, pursing his lips and nodding.

There was a long silence.

“...I lost a bet with Minimoose,” Zim grumbled, slouching in his seat.

Dib suppressed a cackle. “Mmm. No shame in that,” he said seriously.

Zim glared darkly at him. “Silence your voice box. You are obviously holding in a pitiless laugh.”

A giggle escaped from his Dib’s sealed lips. “Okay, yes, but you have to admit it's pretty funny. Your purple stuffed-moose-robot somehow got you into a bet that ended with you walking around–in public–with the most embarrassing bad disguise mankind has ever known! You can at least admire his creativity.”

“Minimoose is a master manipulator! If only he weren’t so lovable I’d have scrapped him long ago!” Zim shook a tiny fist. “Damn that moose…”

Dib chuckled and turned his face back to the open road. Spring flowers dotted the sidewalk and sunlight tickled the colors into warmth, a breeze rustled the trees leaves. Zim reached forward and turned on the stereo, and Dib’s driving playlist bounced through the speakers with a laidback grace. With any luck, they’d be able to make pancakes with any great incident, and they could go to the library for a bit. There was a new paranormal guidebook Dib wanted to check out.

Actually, it was early enough in the day still they might even make it out to the haunted house the guidebook had talked about, if he could scrounge up the ghost monitoring equipment from his storage area in the basement and get it set up in time. Zim would be thrilled. Any chance to explore the many oddities excited him almost as much as it excited Dib, something he was surprised and pleased to learn when they’d finally enacted a truce. The little alien was quite the curious thing.

“Hey Zim?” Dib said.

“Yes, Dib-thing?” Zim looked up at him.

“It really is clue.”

“It’s not!”

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