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iheartdirt · 7 years

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Dig Your Own Grave and Then Bury the Hatchet [5/6]

Fandom: Invader Zim

Pairing/Characters: ZaDr

Rating: M

Word Count: ~9,700

Notes: thx to my bffz5ever Mrs. mrsbigfoot.tumblr.com for beta-ing this for me. I bought the rights to invader zim for sixty-eight cents on ebay

Summary: Alternatively Titled: In Which Zim and Dib Makeout and it Upsets the Balance of the Entire Universe

Read it at AO3 or under the cut

“Stop messing with it,” Zim snaps without looking up. A long arm reaches out and over Zim from his PAK, holding a little curved laptop in its robot claw. Screens and graphs and letters flash by rapid-fire, which Dib can see reflected in reverse on Zim’s eyes. When the light hits them just right, Zim’s eyes look like wide mirrors. It’s creepy.

“You can’t even see me,” Dib says, but drops his hand. The mark immediately starts to itch.

“Zim sees all,” Zim says ominously. His eyes flash white as the computer screen loads- something.

“How come you don’t have a tattoo?” Dib asks. It can sense people talking about it, apparently, because the triangle starts to itch. Lightly, Dib scratches at it. He’s too afraid of it still to touch it any rougher. Lately he’s even tried to keep his shirt collars away from it if possible.

“What are you talking about?” Zim asks, distractedly waving him off. “Of course I do.”

“Oh,” Dib says. Goes back to tracing his finger along the raised outline of it. “Can I see?”

Now Zim does look up from the laptop. The top half of his eyes are focused on him, the bottom half the bright blue of the computer screen. Eyelids droop in irritation, making his whole eye seem blue and depthless.

“I will allow you a gracious view at my incredible neck if it’ll shut you up.”

The high pink collar strains against starched fabric as Zim tries to pull it all the way to his clavicle. But right there, in an exact mirror of Dib’s, is a little black triangle.

Seeing it on Zim affects him a lot more than he thought it would. A rush of absurd fondness runs through him. And desire. It’s like looking at the thing makes the bond snap in place again, trying to drive them back together to consummate it better than they did at the party.

God that seems like a hundred years ago.

Zim lets go of his collar and it snaps back into place. The fondness goes away, but, uncomfortably, the desire doesn’t.

“So, this bond. It is gonna affect how we-” Dib clears his throat. “It is gonna make me not hate you?”

With a sigh, Zim retracts his robot arm back into his PAK. He gives Dib an odd look.

“The only physical aspect is the mark. My translator comes up with ‘bond,’ although perhaps a closer approximation would be what you humans call 'marriage,’” Zim says.

Dib’s stomach hits his feet.

“Right,” he says. So it’s all on him to package up those weird horny fond feelings and bury them way, way deep down where no one can find them.

Except in the morning. And at night. But those kisses don’t count if Dib doesn’t think about them hard enough. Denial is more than just a river in Egypt if Dib makes himself a happy little home in it.

The following weeks haven’t brought better results for anyone on the brainwashing commercial front. It’s lunchtime on the fourth week or so of his time here (a lingering Earth anxiety, Dib thinks, that he feels the need to try to track the weeks he’s been gone) and he’s starving because control base has been forcing them to skip breakfasts to catch up on the schedule. Zim had been grumpy all morning from skipping breakfast, which ticks Dib off because he’s almost absolutely sure Zim doesn’t even need to eat.

Irritably, Dib prods his salad with his fork. Delegates a couple wilted looking plants to the upper right of the plate, and scoops grape tomatoes into a little colony, but doesn’t take a bite. Despite how hungry he is. It’s always been difficult for him to eat when he’s upset. Just another way Zim is ruining his day, he guesses. Shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

Earlier in the weeks the studio had given up on the luxury of one continuous shot. Having finished all the other sections to almost-satisfaction, though, they had spent a better part of the morning working on the kiss, of all things. Which, control insists, is incredibly important to get down properly. Dib thinks they’re lying, or that he died in space and he’s in Hell for his early-morning-late-night sins. The disgusting xenophilic ones. Actually, the amount of times he’s awkwardly shoved his face onto Zim’s tense, angry one is starting to turn him off to then too. Dib’s actually pretty sure he never wants to kiss anyone again ever. He just can’t figure out how to relax as soon as the camera comes on. Even when he thinks back to their alone-kisses, he just gets too embarrassed and overwhelmed with the feeling that he’s doing something wrong. Like, morally.

It occurs to him kind of belatedly that he could think of someone else. Some hot human girl, or boy, since that’s apparently what he’s doing lately, that he wouldn’t mind kissing in front of people.

It’s depressing to think that he wants to do that even less, though.

Dib spears a grape tomato with his fork. Someone’s gonna figure out they’re not actually together, eventually. Alright, yes, the triangle-shaped mark probably means they’re together—somehow. But not like that. Or, he guesses, only sort of like that. Sometimes He blushes at his salad.

“It’s not like that,” Dib tells himself.

“Being crazy again, sad little Dib?” Zim asks, gnawing loudly on an aluminum foil back. The bag is already open. Saliva drips from the corner of his mouth.

Dib buries his head in his hands. God, please don’t let it be like that.

He remembers their “homework,” though. (Which is hilarious. Dib would have graduated high school by now. College letters would already be in the mail, and Dib would be packing for dorm life.) Try to practice affection in public, they said. If you do it out there, we don’t have to waste film on it in here.

Dib sighs into his hands, and lets one fall next to him, keeping his head resting on the other. Calling upon some deep well of courage and strength, he lets his pinky finger lead his hand in a hesitant scoot across the table until it rests on top of Zim's— hand? Claw?

Of course, Zim conspicuously and instantly stops trying to eat the chip bag. He shoots a look at Dib, which is even more conspicuous and Dib thinks again to himself that there’s no way he could— that there’s no way they’re like that. Zim is too much of an idiot. Squeezing his hand tighter, Dib gives a significant look to their lunch mates as if to say don’t tip them off, you stupid lizard. Zim nods sagely, but moves his hand so that Dib is gripping his wrist instead. Dib rolls his eyes. Whatever.

“Hey,” someone says to him “are you listening to me, lovebird, or what?”

“Huh?” Oh jeez, is someone talking to him?

“We were talking about that new eyeball eating squid the armada has-,” Steven says, exasperated.

“Allegedly has,” Hegh interrupts.

Steven rolls his eyes. “Anyways, then you started mumbling to yourself and stared off into space for a bit.”

“Ha Ha,” Dib says, uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

Steven smiles knowingly at them. Blinks his eyes a couple times. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to hold hands around us, guys,”

Zim’s clicks a bright plastic smile on and Dib almost laughs at it. Gums are showing that smile is so wide.

“We just love to, eh,” Zim says “squeeze our love-tubes into-augh,”

The smell of burnt flesh rises before Dib sees the smoke. Zim hisses between his teeth, and yanks his hand back, and Dib loses sight of him for a split second in the haze.

When he can see, he sees a thin dark line wrapped around a wrist that Zim cradles to his chest.

“Curse you! Your filthy human sweat has poisoned my soft, advanced skin.”

Dib’s ears redden. “If your skin is so advanced, how did I burn it then, huh?”

“Be quiet!” Zim says, and makes a half-aborted little stomp on the ground. “There is no glue aboard this cursed ship.”

Dib’s stomach churns. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment where everyone’s gonna realize that they aren’t—you know—and that they’re stupid space bond is a stupid space-hate bond and he doesn’t like Zim at all—except for the alone-kisses which don’t count— and Zim’s thin, burnt bracelet is just glaring, smoking proof that they couldn’t get away with it.

“It’s adorable,” Hegh says, throwing his arms wide and narrowly avoiding hitting Boch in the face.

“I promise I didn’t—wait, what?”

Hegh laughs. “So nervous about husband in public, you sweat poison from your hand-skin.”

The rest of the table laughs and chatters in agreement. Dib breathes in deep, he didn’t know he was holding his breath, and is finally able to look away from Zim’s wrist. He looks up at Zim and, expecting him to still be pissy, is surprised when Zim looks almost contemplative. His eyes focus on Dib’s and holds them for one beat, then two, and then he purses his lips and shrugs. Lets his hand fall into his lap.

“I guess it could be called 'adorable’.” Zim motions one gloved hand with another. “It seems we will just have to get the Earth boy a pair of gloves. Or me some glue.”

Is Zim seriously the one recovering them from this? Dib feels still in shock from their close call. He looks at Zim’s face, and then his eyes drop down to Zim’s mouth which is still bunched up to one side. He could do it now, he thinks. With everyone at the table laughing at them and encouraging them and Zim agreeing that he’s—adorable?

Someone at the table tells a joke, because Hegh laughs uproariously and breaks the spell. Dib looks away. The moment between them is gone.

Once the table calms down, though, Dib scoots a little closer to Zim and resolves his unfortunate lingering mushy feelings by hooking his foot around Zim’s ankle. This time, neither of them flinch at the contact and Dib has to hide a smile.

Three notes sound, two up, one down, to signify the end of lunch.

“Oh, Dib,” says Steven as Dib unhooks his ankle from around Zim’s. “Can I talk to you, actually?” His gaze sweeps slowly over to Zim and he rephrases, pointing between Dib and himself. “mano a mano?”

Dib gives Zim a sidelong glance, and Zim raises his eyebrows. Or, well, the skin where his eyebrows should be. In a weird eyebrow-like skin formation. How many face muscles must an irken have to move their face like that? (File that for later, Dib.)

Dib shrugs. “Sure.”

Zim pulls a face at him, and Dib knows he’s going to have to deal with that later. Unfortunate mushy feelings gone.

“What is it you have to say to the salad boy that you cannot say to me?” Zim asks.

“Leave off, Zim,” Dib says, pulling a face back at him. “Why does it matter?”

Zim looks at Dib, and then back at Steven, and then back at Dib again before scoffing dramatically and turning on his heel.

Whatever. Let Zim be a drama queen if he wants. Just because Zim’s been inspiring frequent gross soft feelings doesn’t mean Dib’s going to change his life to revolve around what Zim wants. Stupid Zim. Not that Dib cares. Dib doesn’t care about anything Zims doing, obviously.

Steven grabs his shoulder interrupts Dib’s completely-fair fuming.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says. “I’ve got a surprise for you that’s gonna knock off your socks.”

Immediately, Dib perks up. “Oh?”

“Can you meet me right here in, like, two hours?” Dib notices that Steven is almost vibrating with excitement. Whatever surprise it is he has planned, Dib one-hundred-percent wants to be a part of it. Especially if it’s going to annoy Zim more. Obviously, not that he cares what Zim feels about stuff. It’s just an added bonus.

Dib quickly confirms their plans, and starts off for the bedroom with a light step.

Until he basically bodies a crouching Zim right as he turns around the corner.

“Oh my God, Zim, what is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Zim asks. “What is wrong with me?”

“Yes, what’s-”

“Me?” Zim asks, louder. “What is wrong with me?”

“Yes, that’s what-”

“Me?” Zim asks, flailing now, “What’s wrong with-”

“Oh my God, Zim, shut up,” Dib says, pushing Zim’s shoulders a little. “I think you’re just jealous because people actually like me here, unlike you.”

“Me?” Zim yells. “Jealous?”

“That’s right, I-”

“Me?” Zim yells louder. “Jealous?”

Okay, no actually, he’s done with this.

“Me?” Zim raises his arms in the air dramatically and pounds on hallway wall next to him with his tiny fists. “Jealous?”

People are starting to stop and stare at them openly. Blood rushes to Dib’s face.

“Zim, if you’d just shut up for a second!”

“I’ll kill you, dirt stench.” Zim says suddenly, withdrawing his arms into himself and eyeing him balefully. “I’ll have your blood on my hands.”

And, really, that’s the final straw. How many times do they have to go around in circles like this? Why does it always half to be one step forward and three steps back? The kissing, the talking, the arguments. Any feelings Dib had about Zim vanished. None of it ever matters because they both pretend it’s never happening anyways. It’s like he’s two different people, and Zims two different people, and Dib hates all four of them.

And, God, Dib’s tired of it.

Which is the best explanation for why he’s able to tug Zims chin between the cup of his hand and kiss him so hard his lips feel like they’re gonna bruise.

It doesn’t feel good at all, actually. It feels like they’re fighting, but it at least feels like winning the fight. Zim splutters against his mouth and strains hard against his hand but Dib has some unknown hand strength that keeps him in place. Or maybe Zims not struggling all that hard. Another layer of stupidity.

There’s a pregnant pause, and then Dib lets him go. Zim stumbles backwards with the force of wrenching his face away. They stare at each other for a moment. Zim’s mouth halfway in a snarl, eyes intent and focused, Dib panting and tired.

And then Zim hightails it.

And Dib turns around and doesn’t watch him go.

He’s five minutes early to his meeting with Steven. Honestly, for the last two hours, all Dib’s done is powerwalk angrily down the hallways around the meeting place and avoid talking to anyone, so he’s proud of himself for being only five minutes early.

When he sees Steven around the corner, Dib raises his hand to greet him and is quickly shut down by Steven bringing his finger to his lips in the universal sign for “shut the fuck up.”

Dib lets his hand fall. Okay, so it’s a super-secret mission. Maybe control is assigning him some other work, since Zim is so useless and stupid at everything. That’s probably it.

Steven motions with his hand for Dib to follow, and Dib does, keeping a couple yards behind him at all time just in case. Basic spy knowledge says never let the enemy know you’re involved. Or something.

They walk down to a hallway that only has one door at the very far end of it. Dib has never seen a hallway end, in a door or otherwise, and he tries to fit it into the map of the place he has in his head. (Another Earth anxiety, probably, Dib thinks. The need for things to be contained and finite, even in space.)

At the end of the hallway, Steven soundlessly waves the door open, and long row of mops lines the small room, side by side.

“I knew it! I knew it,” Dib shouts, and then covers his mouth to smother his volume. That doesn’t keep him from continuing to talk through his fingers though. “The mops have been the real secret weapon the whole time. They contain microorganisms on the fabric heads capable of creating temporal doom.”

“No,” Steven says slowly after a moment. “The mops are for cleaning.”

Steven places a hand on Dib’s shoulder, and motions again with the other hand. The far back wall of the mop-closet moves out, spins around, and then tilts upwards like a garage door opening.

“The guns are for temporal doom.”

And revealed on the other side is a massive room, walls stocked toe to tip with hundreds upon hundreds of weapons. Huge canon-guns the size of three Dib’s lie closer to the top, and a thousand tiny handguns on the bottom. Like a library, rows of wheeled ladders are scattered every hundred meters or so.

“You were telling me a couple weeks ago how you wish you could be more involved, and I didn’t get you that,” Steven says, hand squeezing Dib’s shoulder “But I did get you clearance to look at this neat weapons to maybe cheer you up. Shooting things always cheers me up.”

“Oh, man!” Dib says, taking off into the room. “Is that one over there a laser gun?”

Upon closer inspection, it is a laser gun. With like, three different dials and triggers despite being the size of the average human handgun. Does it shoot a continues stream of laser, or is it like short bullets? He could never tell with Zim’s guns because he was such a shitty inaccurate shooter anyways.

“Oh, man!” Dib says again, for like, the twentieth time. “Does this one have an auto-coolant re-firing system? I haven’t even seen these on paper.”

Steven smiles at him. “Yeah, my dude. We have them in the laser hand-canons too.”

“Wow!” Dib says. “Can I shoot this one?” Dib points to another gun, further up, about the size of an overweight toddler.

“Uh, sure. As long as you don’t shoot at the other guns, I guess.” Steven shrugs.

Carefully, Dib lifts the much heavier than it originally looked gun off of the wall. It’s the size of a toddler but the weight of ten toddlers. It comes away with a little click, and he drops it on the floor. Dib shoots an alarmed Steven a meek smile and hoists the much, much heavier than he maybe should be lifting gun up on his shoulder. The sharp dig of it into his neck meat where he has to place it is decidedly not comfy. But Dib can barely feel it because he’s holding a giant laser gun. How does he shoot it?

“This button?” Dib asks out loud and then presses a button like a trigger near where his hand is naturally resting. It kickbacks immediately, throwing Dib back a couple feet. The gun slides off his shoulder backwards and Dib falls to his knees with it. There’s a loud sucking noise, and a steady beam of light erupts out of the gun for a split second.

The beam, oddly, doesn’t throw Dib back again, and he’s able to watch as the beam cuts a hole out of the ceiling in a perfect, burning circle.

“Wow!” Dib says again. He relaxes his arm and tilts the gun over to get the weight off his shoulder.

“Like a duck to water.” Steven says politely, because it’s absolutely not true.

“What?” Dib turns around, tilting the gun precariously. “Oh. Thanks.”

Steven picks the gun up, and it looks light as anything on Steven’ shoulder. Dib’s jealous.

"Sure,” Steven says, mounting the cannon back in the cannon-shaped-hole where it should be. “You’re really not that bad for a first-timer, especially off a planet without laser-weapon technology. Makes me wish we could actually join the foot-soldiers.”

“Hey,” Dib asks, just realizing “How come you’re so much better at talking Human than everyone else?”

Steven grabs a ladder around a rung and begins to walk it further down the aisle. “Don’t you know? Plookesians visit Earth all the time. I could probably even speak it decently without my translator.” He taps on the little Bluetooth-shaped device on his glass dome.

The new hole in the ceiling allows Dib to see a little square foot of space into the room above as they pass under it with the ladder. It looks to be a supply room in similar shape as this one, also fully stocked with weaponry. Isn’t everyone else issued a gun, no matter what they do? Dib thinks back to breakfast, and he definitely remembers seeing people with guns to their holsters. People that he’s pretty sure aren’t ground soldiers. It’s possible that big weapons like this are only handed out right before battle, or on special missions, but what about smaller guns. Shouldn’t he have one for like, safety?

Dib knows it doesn’t really make sense. He just really wants to have a laser gun.

Dib finds his mouth speaking before his brain can catch up.

“What if we join the foot-soldiers anyways?”

Steven shoots him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

But Dib’s voice is running ahead of him. Mouth moving before he really even realizes what he’s saying. “We could sneak in. You could get us disguisers. Those holographic kind. You can get us those, right? We can use those holographic disguisers, and sneak onto a mission. Who wouldn’t overlook two soldiers in a mess of like, what, ten thousand?”

Steven stares at Dib with saucer-round eyes. Again, Dib recalls that he doesn’t actually know what Steven does here. Maybe he’s already a soldier.

“I-I don’t know about that, Dib,” he says. “We could die. Worse, we could get ourselves fired.”

Those are sure some priorities.

“We could really do something to help the revolution. Isn’t that what matters most anyways, helping the effort?” Dib asks.

Steven doesn’t look convinced, but he also hasn’t said no. He hesitates, running his hand over the wood grain of the ladder. He traces his finger over the rung, thinking it over. Dib sees his window disappearing. He’s already committed himself to this plan. There’s no way he can make it happen without Steven’s access to clearance on things like the weapons room, and hopefully disguisers. If he can’t convince Steven to do this for him, he’ll never get another chance at all.

Dib smiles at Steven winningly. “There’s no other friend I’d rather come with me than you,” he says, putting an upwards tilt in tone on the last word to make it seem like a reminder.

Still not looking over at him, Steven fights a smile and Dib does an internal fist pump of success.

“Yeah,” he says softly, and then louder “Yeah, okay. There’s a group heading out in a half-sol. I can get disguisers before then.”

“That’s a lot sooner than I was expecting,” Dib admits “but I’m still totally down.”

In the corner of the weapons room, they spend the next several hours working out the details of their plan.

When Dib comes back to their room, Zim is loudly fake snoring. Dib knows its fake, less because he’s still pretty sure Irkens don’t sleep and more because Zim is just actually saying the word “snore” out loud several times a minute.

“C’mon, Zim, I know you’re not sleeping,” Dib says.

“Snore,” says Zim.

Dib rolls his eyes and climbs halfway up the ladder to the top bunk. Once he’s high enough to see Zim, he rests his head on the side of it. Zim’s back is to him, but he can see his body twitch with his ‘snoring.’

Dib doesn’t feel like what he did was wrong— after all it was Zim who antagonized him, as per usual— but he does want this fight to end. Picking his battles is the best thing when it comes to Zim, and with the actual battle imminent, this isn’t the one he wants to pick. The volume of Zim’s snores turns up a notch.

Better just tackle it head on. "Sorry about that kiss thing.”

Zim shuts up and turns over to meet his eyes. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dib rolls his eyes. “Sure, yeah, okay.” They sit in silence for a moment, and Dib stares aggressively at a spot on the bedsheets. “I don’t want to kiss you in front of people without like, your permission, I guess.”

For a second, Zim squints his eyes at Dib. And then he closes his eyes and turns back over.

“You have indefinite permission, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Dib says. His face heats up. This was much different than how he pictured this conversation going. “Okay.”

Not knowing what else to say, he spends a couple more minutes staring at Zim, watching the slowing rise and fall of his chest now that he’s stopped “snoring” and still wondering if Irkens really sleep?

Zim’s chest rises and he thinks about what he said, and the unfortunate mushy feelings he had, and the maybe-sort-of-like-that. Scrounges up his courage and thinks that he used to have more courage than this when he was a kid.

Dib takes a couple more steps up leans over Zim to kiss him halfway on the mouth. Like, spider-man style. Which is super cool and sexy. A sharp intake betrays Zim’s pretend sleep, but Dib ignores it so he can duck his head around the ladder and jump off.

Before he can realize his mistake, he heads straight for the door and Zim “wakes up” and asks him “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh,” Dib says, intelligently. “I have to pee?”

Zim cranes his neck around and narrows his eyes at him and Dib can feel himself starting to sweat under his collar. Why is he always so sweaty? Finally, Zim scoffs.

“Humans are so gross. I take it back, Earth-Beast, I don’t want your face anywhere near mine.”

Again, Dib rolls his eyes. “Whatever, space lizard,” Dib says. And “Don’t wait up for me.”

The door closing muffles the latter half of Zim’s “I won’t.”

They had agreed to meet again in the weapons locker (Steven assured him the foot-soldiers wouldn’t be in this locker tonight, as it was technically the “back-up” locker.)

In Steven’s hand, Dib saw, were two different Bluetooth headpiece shaped objects. They must be the disguisers. Dib reaches out for one, and Steven shows him how to fasten it to his ear.

“One tap on it to turn it on,” Steven says, demonstrating. It flickers, and then instead of a Plooknesian stood a short vortian, with circular curled horns and an overbite.

“Two taps to turn it back off.” Taps twice, and then Steven is back.

Dib taps the earpiece and, for lack of a mirror, looks at his hands, which are now green and stubby.

“Am I Irken?” Dib asks, twisting his arms out in front of him to get a look at his new skin.

“Yeah,” Steven says, tapping himself back vortian. “I thought it would be funny.”

A weird nauseous wave hits Dib when he goes to scratch his face, sees three fingers and feels five. Nervously, he agrees. Funny.

Both disguised and armed, they leave the locker, but pause at the end of the hallway. They wait, tense, listening. Apparently, Steven hears something because he herds them down the hallway right and end up behind a group of soldiers. An irken and two more species Dib doesn’t recognize.

Dib and Steven quickly fall into step behind them.

“Hey,” one of the aliens says, after a couple moments, jerking its hand towards Dib. “Were those guys here with us the whole time?”

"Oh. Yeah,” asks another.

Dib starts to panic. “Uh, yes?” he asks

The first alien hums, and scratches his chin. “Well, alright,” he says.

They follow the group into a room massive like Dib’s never seen. Can this really still be on the ship? It stretches infinitely in all directions, dotted in a crisscross pattern with even-still large black spaceships. Each ship can probably eat ten of Zim’s ship, easy. For breakfast. One side of each ship has a gaping maw which soldiers pour into like krill into a whale’s mouth. A huge loading dock. Dib and Steven, side by side, follow their group into one of the rushing currents of aliens marching into one ship’s mouth. The incline into the ship is steep, but surprisingly grippy for a metal surface. At the lip, though, Steven is pulled in a different direction from Dib to be strapped into the nearest available seating. Dib is ushered to the opposite side of the ship to strap himself in.

“We seem to have more soldiers than we were planning for,” says a uniformed vortian standing near him, scratching between his horns with a pen and looking perplexed at a clipboard. Dib throws Steven a sly wink, which Steven doesn’t get because he’s too far away to have heard the comment. Steven winks at him back anyways. Good friend.

For a reason Dib doesn’t know, they wait in the ships for a while. Every second makes Dib feels more anxious that they’re about to be caught before they can even fly off. Aliens around the ship are chatting in a low buzz, though, which reassures Dib that maybe the waiting is normal. No one’s looking his way, so Dib tries to keep his head down.

What looks to be the same vortian from earlier marches stiffy to the lip of the ship’s opening. It’s sans clipboard this time though, and reaches to adjust the collar of its uniform. Dib stifles a laugh at the resemblance to Zim. He’s so for sure gonna tell him about this when he gets back. If Zim ever stops being mad at him for this.

Eh, he’ll get over it. If they’re lucky, no one will even notice. Or they’ll be super famous and everyone will give them awards for how good they shoot.

The vortian clears its throat, and Dib sneaks Steven another look. Now he’s looking back at Dib queasily. Leave it to Steven to try and ruin his plans at the last second. Bad friend. Well, it’s too late, Steven. Still, Dib sends him a thumbs up, and is a little mollified to get Stevens weak return thumbs up.

The ship’s ramp starts to rise silently until it reaches the top of the opening and fastens itself into place with a rather jarring creaking noise. Wind blows past him and his ears pop as the airlock engages. Dib feels a little thrill through him. He did it. Well, they did it. Mostly with Dib’s motivation, without which they never would have even halfway made it. So mostly Dib did it.

The vortian clears its throat again, and the chatter in the room dies down this time.

“Why do we resist?” the vortian asks in the nasally voice typical to the species. It’s little head bobs as it surveys the room, but his voice sound strong and sure. “For those in the Resisty, we do not resist for power, or for monies. We do not resist, in the Resisty, for personal gain.”

That’s right, Dib thinks. We exist to kick entire alien butt. And get cool space medals like the scene in Star Wars. Steven is definitely Han though. Except Dib’s not gonna lose a hand.

It pauses, eyes resting in the middle of the room. “Does anyone know why we resist?”

The room is silent. Dib assumes this is a rhetorical question, of which the answer to is kicking entire alien butt and all that other stuff.

“We resist for love.”

Oh, wait. Oh, God, no. Please don’t let this be about what he thinks this is about. Underneath the hologram, Dib’s cheeks redden.

“As long as love can be found in the most selfish of races, and the most savage of planets, then we will resist,” the vortian continues. Its gaze seems to drift to Dib like a honing missile. Dib stares resolutely at the floor.

This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. When Tak said she was basing the recruitment theme around their “relationship,” or unfortunate lack therof, Dib hadn’t pictured it all weird and gross and stuff. Sure there’s selling love as an angle, but this is just stupid. All these aliens on this ship, and millions more, have seen him rubbery-mouth kiss Zim, and they just die over it?

Blushing furiously, Dib ignores a now-grinning Steven and stares hard at a chip in the floor tile. Stupid Steven. Just two seconds ago he was gonna barf it all over the floor ‘cause he’s scared of death or whatever and now everything’s comedy hour at the chuckle hut. Dib tries very very hard to block out the rest of the vortian’s speech. Very unfortunately, he hears his and Zim’s name several times. Sometimes even right next to each other. When the room erupts into cheers, Dib tunes back in and is relieved to find that the speech is over. Chancing a look at Steven, Dib finds he’s still grinning at him. Dib pretends he can’t see him.

Almost right after the speech ends there’s a sickening lurch which sends Dib’s stomach into his ears. The ship quickly gets its balance, though and glides smoothly off. Windows line the walls like teeth, and through them Dib watches spacetime smooth out to a faded grey as they reach max velocity. Just like in Star Wars. Neat. There’s a gentle buzzing from the turbine Dib’s closest to, but otherwise the ship is silent. Friends and coworkers that were talking earlier are quiet, as if the vacuum of space sucked up the noise. As if the heaviness of the air dampened everyone’s high spirits. In the silence, oxygen masks are handed out to creatures who need them. Keeping his face down, Dib snatches one and pulls it over his face.

For a second, Dib feels a genuine lick of fear in the raw pit of his stomach. It kinda feels like his heart and his lungs and his spleen got put into a blender and dumped back into him. And also like he’s about to go to war and die.

He thinks of Zim, back in their room, chest rising slowly and then falling like a tick-tick-tick, pretending to be asleep. Or maybe actually sleeping. He still doesn’t know. Waiting for him to come back from the bathroom when he won’t. And he feels- weird. Guilty? Why should he feel guilty? For saving the entire universe? And kicking massive alien butt?

He remembers flying through a different spaceship with Zim. Pointing at planets and stars and eating shitty granola bars on the floor. Looking at all of space fly by in a dull grey with a thousand different species feels lonelier, somehow.

Another lurch forward as they stop, and Dib’s spleen presses uncomfortably into the seatbelt. He doesn’t wanna be that guy who vomits on the ship before the mission. Plus he’s sure the guy who vomits is probably likely to be asked for I.D., and Dib doesn’t think they’ll get lucky twice if pressed.

After a couple seconds, the seatbelt gives way, like a themepark ride, and Dib stumbles forward a bit getting out of his seat. The wide door opens, and, unhitching his blaster from his belt, Dib jogs out with the crowd.

At first Dib doesn’t really understand where they are. It looks like a really old shopping mall. But like, huge. When Dib looks up, it resembles more a city bank in amount of floors than a mall. But the walls are decorated with little storefronts, giving off the general appearance of a termite hive. Along the general walkway are scattered waiting benches and fake plants. Dib notices stupidly that the plants don’t have any dust on them, despite the mall looking abandoned for at least decades.

The group moves forward in a unit that Dib tries to stay at the back of. If he stays at the back, they might not notice an extra person moving not quite along like the rest of them. The whole place is still. Even the leaves on the plastic bushes don’t seem to be swaying. Their steps sound so loud to Dib. Like little bombshells erupting in a uniform march. A glowing bit of neon sign pokes around the corner indicating the food court. Huh. Who would have turned the neon on? Who’s paying the bill for that electricity for the-

And then- Noise. A thousand life-size explosions in his ear. The lights are bright, bright, bright all of a sudden and he hears a gentle whine, like a mosquito. Pressure is on his eardrum. The mosquito is trying to bury itself in his ear and it hurts so badly. There’s an ambush happening from above. An ambush they didn’t anticipate. He hears someone shouting in his ear to move from underwater but he can’t figure out where and in which direction. He tries to follow someone, hide where they hide, but they get lost in the crowd almost instantly underfoot. Everyone is scrambling. He steps on something soft that crunches.

Dib mind clears for just long enough to understand that someone is shooting at him. The thrill of death tickles him and makes him duck low below everyone. He runs as fast as he can in one direction, hoping not to get stepped on, hoping he wouldn’t get caught by a stray bullet. Someone ahead of Dib falls and kicks him in the face on the upswing, smashing his glasses and digging the frame into his cheekbone. It doesn’t hurt, but Dib feels that his cheek is wet with- probably blood. His face feels prickly and numb.

Getting finally to a place where the crowd is thinner, Dib takes a run for it and hauls ass to a bench that he ducks behind.

Sitting down, Dib realizes that his mask is fogging up over his eyes with moist breath in a slowly inching-out circle, and now he can’t see out of the eye that has a glasses lens left. He knows he needs to control his breath, stop hyperventilating, but now he can’t see and the noise sounds closer, like it’s coming for him. If he could only stop hyperventilating.

He hears something that sounds like words out of the rising wall of screams and gunshots.

“Hey,” it says. “Dib, hey!”

Dib uses his cheek to wipe away some of the condensation on his mask, too scared to move his arms. Blood follows it, but it cleans off enough of a portion so he can see. He sees, twenty yards or so away, behind another bench, Steven. Oh, thank God. Somebody, anybody is alive. And here with him.

Dib motions with his hand that Steven should come over here to him. There’s safety in numbers, right? If Steven will just come over here, everything will be alright. Maybe he and Steven can stand back to back so Dib can block out this horrible growing feeling that’s been crawling up his spine that someone is right there, right there behind him. Steven doesn’t answer him. Dib motions harder, waving over to himself as frantically as he can. His mask isn’t gonna be clear for long. A gunshot flies down a few feet behind Dib, who feels the sharp whine in his molars more than hears it. It generates a loud explosion that sends concrete up in huge screaming chunks and rams Dib’s knee into his mouth. Dribbling out blood, Dib looks up to see Steven frantically shaking his head at him. Can’t he see that if he’d just get over there that everything would be alright? Dib swallows. There feels like there’s so much vomit in his stomach his organs are liquefying and melting in it. Into some sort of gross organ soup. A sharp pain hits Dib in the gut, like a stitch. Or maybe even an organ broth.

Steven shoots him a conflicted look, but, crouching onto the balls of his feet, makes a mad dash for Dib’s bench. He passes a pile of upturned stone and then a body, propped up against the stone walls by the force of the bullets before Dib sees a little red mark following behind him, like a baby duckling. Fear is choking him and when he screams nothing comes out. The bullet makes a visible screaming line through the top of Steven’s tank to the bottom. Cracks spiderweb through the holes in his tank, almost in slow motion, and the force of the liquid pressing on the glass cracks it into a thousand pieces. Shattered glass barely skitters across Dib’s feet. Steven ragdolls to the floor, his body suddenly dried up and noodle-like. Almost comically, he deflates, leaving a pastelike substance in a Steven-shape. Dib vomits up a thimble-full of stomach bile and then finds he has no more in his stomach and retches dryly.

A force knocks him to the ground and something else cracks- not his glasses this time- and pain blossoms on the side of his head so painful he retches again. Reaches up to feel it, out of habit, and comes away not only with blood but grasping a half a little bluetooth shaped plastic chip. The Disguiser. The green skin on his hand flickers once, and then fades to normal. God, oh fuck, no. He can’t die here. He’s gotta hide. Gotta find a way to hide his face, but his face just hurts so god damn bad. He heaves himself forward with one arm, not really knowing where he’s going, but knowing he needs to move. Sleepy, really sleepy, but you’re not supposed to sleep if you have a concussion? Right?

Someone’s saying his name but it sounds from far away, like someone’s shouting at him through a tunnel. The world kind of feels like it looks through a tunnel too, you know?

His last thought is on a little chest rising very slowly and falling with a tick-tick-tick.

And he’s back at it again in a tiny concrete box. Honestly, he thought he’d improved at least a little bit.

The box begins emanating a tinny voice. The intercom system, Dib realizes.

“Hello, prisoner! It seems that you’ve woken up.” A pause. “Good for you.” The voice is incredibly nasally, even through the shitty speakers. And also incredibly familiar.

A different voice speaks, deeper and equally familiar. “You’ve been imprisoned on the bestest ship to ever get all conquer-y up in here: The Massive!” This voice is somehow, even worse.

“Really? ‘Get all conquer-y?’” Dib asks.

Dib rolls over onto his side and grips his head. It feels like it’s splitting into three even pieces. All of his muscles ache because he’s been sent to space hell to be tortured by the recorded voices of Statler and Waldorf after a rhinoplasty for all of eternity.

“Congratulations for rotting on the best ship ever made!”

A ding finalizes the message and Dib is so, so grateful.

The Massive. Doesn’t he know that name? But, ugh, his face feels like someone’s pushing a needle through his left eye. Isn’t The Massive that big Empire ship? Dib feels a pang through his gut that has nothing to do with his injuries. A real soldier would know this.

A real soldier wouldn’t have got caught in the first place.

A real soldier wouldn’t have gotten his friend killed.

Dib bites his lip hard and forces himself to focus on where he’s heard of ‘The Massive.’ You can’t change the past.

The walls ding again to indicate a message and Dib calculates how long it would take to kill himself by smashing his head into the side wall.

This voice is different. “You’ve been chosen by the almighty Tallest as a special interest prisoner. Confetti,” it says.

“Did you just,” Dib forces out through ground teeth “Say the word confetti out loud.”

“The all-knowing Tallest have left you a prerecorded message.”

Lovely.

“Sorry we can’t meet you in person, Dib.” The nasally voice is back and no, oh no, that’s where he’s heard it before. Through brief interactions when Zim had called them. And hadn’t they video-chatted once, when he was like, twelve?

The Tallest snickers. Dib remembers that too, that they— snicker a lot.

“Yeah!” The other Tallest says “We don’t want to catch any of your ugly Earth diseases.”

The first one again. “Good one. Ugly diseases, can you imagine?”

They both laugh.

“Since you and your defective are so fond of television broadcasts, we’ve decided to send him a little broadcast of our own.”

“Tell him what it is. Oh, no, let me tell him what it is,” one of them pleads.

“We’re going to air your execution live to the entire universe!” The voice says this so loudly the speakers go out for a moment.

“Oh, Red, you’re no fun,” interrupts the other one.

The one who’s apparently ‘Red’ says “Well, maybe if you hadn’t messed up the first recording-”

The audio ends with a chime.

For the first time, Dib thinks to himself that this time he’s really done one doodle that can’t be un-did.

Even though he spends the night unable to sleep for the rotten pit of guilt and fear in the bottom of his organs, the night is the quickest night he’d ever spent. Just as he had started to steel himself for the possibility that he would die here, two irkens, bigger and beefier than he’s seen two irkens, corral him out of his cage and into another room with long tridents. The spears zap with electricity, and Dib tries to stay far ahead of them. They giggle amongst themselves, a poke to Dib in the back with sharp jabs whenever the laughter dies out, and then they explode into giggles again. Just like the stupid Tallest.

It takes several moments of giggling and cackling before Dib realizes that they’re not speaking in English at all. Or, laughing in English rather. In fact, they aren’t laughing at all. Dib sees that neither of them are wearing translators. This is what the Irken language must sound like raw. Like— giggling. Is it because Irkens have no reason for translators? Why would a genocidal species need to be able to understand anyone else? Or is it just to spite him? Try to psyche him out to feel lonelier, more confused?

Dib grunts at a sharp poking pain in his back and the laughter reaches a fever pitch. A headache starts to bloom behind Dib’s right eye, and he actually smiles wryly, remembering all the times Zim caused that same headache.

The thought causes his stomach to sink. He remembers the last time they talked. You have indefinite permission. A rising feeling in his throat, like he might vomit.

A third irken enters the room. Tall, and green eyed, only a few shades darker than his skin. He looks like he was molded out of one piece of clay, two shiny moving lumps of skin to designate sight. It puts Dib’s stomach into his lungs, somewhere below the vomit and the stomach bile eating away at him. For whatever reason, he feels like he’s looking at a walking irken corpse when he sees the green-eyed one. The cadaver grabs his arm, giggling at him, and injects him with a syringe drawn out of his jacket. It spreads a numbness up Dibs’s arm, and up into his chest and Dib thinks for a terrible moment oh, god, they just euthanized me. This is it. Pain follows the numbness. Worse than when he got that tetanus shot in the tenth grade because Zim nicked him with a rusty blade. The pain holds his chest, like a python squeezing, and then gently burns away.

The irkens face each other and laugh, full bellied. By all three of them, Dib is ushered through a maze of more rooms. This place seems almost the opposite of the endless hallways of the Resisty. Like a honeycomb of tiny rooms nestled right against each other.

He’s led into a room that looks different from the others in that it seems to be carved out of one continuous block of stone. The wall is smoothed up top like a cave and— oh, okay, Dib thinks as he sees a barred drawbridge at the end of it, it is a cave.

There is a low hum in the background that seems echo-y through the cave. One of the irkens chuckles darkly and stabs him hard in the back, sending his sprawling forward onto the rock. His muscles twitch painfully, contracting from the electricity. Looking up behind him, Dib sees the door has been closed and he’s left alone.

With nowhere else to go, Dib drags himself to the barred drawbridge. Through the bars, Dib sees what seems to be a huge Roman Colosseum. Except, not Roman at all, because it turns out the low hum was millions upon millions of little green irkens screaming. Large television screens, must be miles wide, float among the crowd showing close-up clips of irkens screaming, eating, or laughing. Above him is a bright orange sky, casting a dirty glow on the world. Like a night-mare realm.

Straight across from him was a barred drawbridge identical to his, a thousand times bigger in size. As soon as he notices it, his drawbridge begins to retract and Dib understands. They weren’t going to kill him outright. They’re going to make a show out of him first, watching him run for his life. Steadying himself on the wall, Dib stands himself up and limps into the Colosseum.

Well, fuck then. It’s time to give them a show.

Something charges out of the other drawbridge to the screams of the crowd.

The first thing that Dib notices about the monster is that it’s pink. Like really, really pink. Why is everything irkens own always pink? It’s also low to the ground and on all fours, so Dib’s mind immediately goes to dog. Dogs are good at running, and also hunting. What are dogs bad at? Nothing. Dib’s going to die. A large snout sniffs the air. Nuzzled at the base of the nose are two indented slits. Those are probably its eyes? It’s blind, then, Dib realizes. Patches of fur cling to its skin, but otherwise it seems to just be one giant flesh monster with no eyes.

Dib feels a moment of hope. If it’s blind, maybe he has a chance to outwit it. But why would they give him a monster he could outwit? What’s the point of trying to kill him if they’re going to give him a way out? If Zim can figure out where he’s gone—or if he cares—he may only have to outwit it for a bit before he figures out the Tallests’ games.

Apparently having found a smell that it liked, the creature rears back on its hind legs, showing a rope-scarred belly. The sound that comes out of its mouth sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and leaves Dib’s ears ringing. The noise of the crowd dulls. Dib notices a flash of something white in the dead center of its mouth that he doesn’t think are teeth. Too far in the center, almost at the back of its throat. Most of its teeth seem to be overhanging its lip like an overbite-underbite sort of deal. It opens its mouth again to scream, and there, at the very back of its throat, are two wildly spinning volley-ball sized eyeballs.

Ah. Eye-eating squid monster. At least part of the rumor was correct. There are eyes inside of its mouth.

One huge volleyball stops, pupil arrested on Dib. A beat, and then the other eye stops on Dib, and the monster is looking right at him. It’s then that Dib decides to vomit, and the monster’s cry is overwhelmed by the audience’s disgusted reaction. Now it smells awful, like the inside of his stupid rotten stomach, and he vomits again. Non-audience noise erupts from the far side of the stadium, and Dib doesn’t even bother to look up. He just runs. The shoes they put him in are wet with his vomit, and he almost slips before catching himself. He stays along the far edge of the colosseum to try to put as much distance as he can between him the monster. It’s turn speed is slow, Dib notices, like an alligator. Whenever he changes direction, he gains precious meters on it, but there’s no way he can outrun it when it has him dead on.

As quickly as the creature got itself reorientated, Dib switches himself in another direction, alluding it along the curve of the wall in a zig zag motion. A stitch starts to form in Dibs side. Weeks of life in zero g have seriously impacted his muscle density, as well as just being out of shape. There are serious downsides to a life where he isn’t physically fighting Zim anymore. Dib can’t do this avoiding game for long, and he suspects The Talllest will put something to his disadvantage soon if they get bored.

Dib turns another corner, and his feet get caught up under him. This time he stumbles, and the mistake costs him most of his lead. The ground starts to pitch and shake under him the closer the monster gets, and now Dib’s worried he’s going to fall again, this time directly underneath the monster’s huge foot. Clenching his eyes shut, Dib falls flat forward instead, hoping to roll himself under the worst of the creature’s attack.

The right foot narrowly misses Dibs stomach, as far as Dib can tell from the noise, but does graze his shoulder. Something snaps- so loudly he thinks it’s in his skull until pain paralyzes him from shoulder to elbow. His clavicle must have broken. That’s the only way to explain how much pain he’s in. There’s someone screaming really loudly right next to him, but Dib can’t see who it is because everything looks so dark suddenly. He thinks that he should scream because he heard it helps fight pain. He’s already screaming, though. He’s been screaming.

Something else is screaming too. The monster. Dib has to move or do something right now because in seconds he’s going to be dead. Fear jolts into his muscle like an electric shock, and he flings himself up and goes sprinting in a direction. A direction he hopes the monster isn’t in. The ground shakes again, but the creature’s scream doesn’t accompany it. Is he still screaming? Dib keeps running, his breath burns his throat as he swallows air hard. Each gulp feels like a pound of sand. Another shake, and a blue light, like real lightening and he’s thrown to the ground like it’s moved sideways to meet him. On his back, Dib sees the heavens crack open like an egg, revealing space to him as its split yoke.

People were on the field now. We’re people supposed to be on the field? He wonders if it’s because he’s dead now, and he gets to see the last seconds before they scrape his body off the concrete. The pain had spread in a slow burn up most the base of his head, and he can feel his pulse there. It’s like his whole skin pulses with it. And with every beat of it comes with a strong throb of pain. Did he already say that? Loud sounds. The sound of guns going off. Everything is much darker than before. It this hell? Dib glances behind him and sees a group of identical blue clothed toys on strings shooting at pink, entrapping it in a cage of blue light.

Someone grabs him. Another blue clothed alien. It takes off its head- a helmet, and green is below it. Green like Zim. Strong arms around his waist, and he’s hauled upwards. A part of his chest feels like it crunches, and he screams again.

His heart physically hurts, like it pulled itself up through the layers of bone and flesh to deliver its pulse right into the first layer of skin.

But the ground beneath him is suddenly cool, and the crunch in his chest lessens when he’s let go. The noise here is quieter, which is nice. He stops screaming. A voice he recognizes-Zim. Why would Zim be in hell with him? Did Zim die too? Zim comes near and grabs his shirt. It peels away from his skin which feels so good and so cool. And while Zim’s vice like grip on his chest hurts like a motherfucker, it also feels like a lifeline pumping directly into his veins. But the bond doesn’t have any physical affect? That’s right, he likes Zim. Zim is hissing something at him (hissing, not giggling) and Dib spends his energy to crack his eyes open and see Zim’s bleary green head.

Dib’s head lolls to the side, because it’s so heavy.

“I missed you,” he says inanely.

The hissing stops and Zim huffs at him. A little puff of breath on his face. Feels two hands cradle his head, and then none-too-gently pull forward.

“If you,” Zim says, slowly and carefully, and Dib can see him now that he’s up close. Dib thinks he might be crying, because his face is wet. Embarrassing. He hopes it’s blood. “ever scare me like that again, I will make your skin into beef jerky and I will eat it. And it will taste good. So good.”

And before Dib can say anything, Zim is kissing him. Which is great because it means he’s definitely not dead. And because his mouth is soft and warm and very nice. Zim’s hand is clutching desperately at him, but his mouth is paper-light, like he’s afraid Dib’s about to fall apart. Which he probably is. Regardless, Dib lifts a hand to Zim’s face, tilts him to the side and presses closer. He kisses him again, and again, and again until he hears someone say “please tell me you’re getting this on camera.”

#zadr #mine #my fics

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krizaland · 5 years

Note

Conflict is fun when it's not real. Headcanons for the Tallest becoming interested in Zim's s/o?

I am so HYPED for this ask! I recently just saw the play Wicked and I have been dying to write a drabble where Zim and the reader sing “For good” together. I never had the proper inspiration. Until now! Thank you so much, Anon! Now strap in! This is gonna be a long, bumpy feels trip!

You and Zim had been dating for over two Earth years now! It’s truly amazing how much time could change. Zim had recently revealed himself as an alien to you and he couldn’t be happier that you didn’t run away. You thought his true alien self was waay cuter than his human facade anyway.

However, it seemed that Zim had gone missing!

He hadn’t been at skool in over three days and won’t answer any of your calls on the communicator bracelet he made for you.

Terrified that something might have happened to your boyfriend, you rushed to his base as fast as your legs could take you!

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

You pounded your hand against Zim’s front door.

“Zim?! It’s me, Y/N! Please open up! I need to make sure you’re ok!” You begged as your hand slid down the door.

Thankfully, the door opened but Zim was nowhere to be found.

Instead you found GIR and Minimoose sitting on the couch next to the largest pile of nachos you’ve ever seen.

“GIR? Minimoose? Have either of you seen Zim? He hasn’t been to skool and he won’t answer my calls!” You were almost on the verge of tears as you spoke.

“I don’t know where he is either! I worry about that boy so much! YOU WANT SOME NACHOS?!” GIR chirped as he shoved a gooey handful of nachos in your face.

“No thanks. I just want to see Zim right now.” You sighed as you tried to hold back your tears.

“Hey, keep it down out there. I’m trying to be miserable in my cheesy cocoon of misery.” Zim slurred as he poked his head out of the pile of nachos.

“Zim?! Oh thank goodness you’re alright! I thought something terrible had happened to you!” You cheered.

“Y/N? Is that you? Don’t worry, I’m still alive and stuff. Something terrible did happen to me though.” Zim grumbled as he sunk into the nacho pile.

“What happened, Zim? And why did you turn into a plate of nachos?” You asked nervously.

Zim let out a dramatic groan and flopped out of his cheesy fortress.

He peeled himself off the floor and pulled out an Irken remote.

BLOOP!

Zim pressed a button and a blue holographic map appeared.

“This is the flight path of the Irken Armada. And there, shmillions of lightyears away from that path, is Urth. Do you know what this means, my sweet human?” Zim blubbered as he gestured to the map.

“Your leaders only fly in a straight line?”

“The Tallest aren’t coming!” Zim whimpered as he flopped back onto the ground.

“Oh Zim…I’m so sorry.” You bit your lip as you sat down beside him.

“I’ve lost the respect of my Tallest!” Zim wailed as he climbed onto your lap.

You pulled Zim into a tight hug and gently stroked his antennas. Zim clung to you for dear life as he bawled his ruby eyes out.

When Zim ran out of tears to shed, you gently turned his face to look at you.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright, Zim. You still have my respect.” You reassured softly.

“Really? You still respect me? Even though I’m a..failure?” Zim choked out.

“Zim, you’re not a failure! You’re literally one of the strongest people I know! I don’t care what your leaders think! You’ll always be my favorite Invader!” You insisted.

Zim let out a gasp as his ruby eyes gazed deeply into your E/C ones.

“I love you, Zim. Your leaders may not be coming but I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.” You declared.

“Promise?”

“I promise, Zim.” You whispered as you kissed his forehead.

In that very moment, Zim’s PAK sparked like crazy.

All you felt was a light buzzing sensation but Zim? Zim felt something he never thought he’d feel.

Zim was feeling rebellious.

Every last shred of respect and loyalty for the Irken Empire was erased form his PAK. The only thing Zim had any respect for now was you.

“Y/N. I am honored to be your love pig. No longer shall I continue to serve an Empire that doesn’t appreciate my incredible genius! From this day forth, the only one I shall serve is you, My human.” Zim announced as he sat upright.

“Yeah! That’s the spirit! Wait! What?” You were excited that Zim no longer wanted to serve the Irken Empire but were caught off guard by the last part.

“My human, you have given me the respect I so truly deserve. You have proven yourself to be far more superior than the so called ‘almighty Tallest’. Therefore I shall pledge my life to serving you and only you.” Zim climbed off your lap and gave you a salute.

Before you had a chance to respond, Zim cupped your face and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

You blushed as your eyelids slowly closed. You let Zim taste every last inch of your mouth as you tasted his.

The two of you didn’t part until you were out of breath.

Once the kiss stopped your mouth remained wide open. That wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t quite know how to react at first. However, after a few moments of sitting in shock, you figured out that this was Zim’s way of saying he loved you.

“Wow, Zim! I-I’m so honored!” You stuttered as you slowly stood up.

“As you rightfully should be, My human! Now I will need to cleanse all that I own of any FLITH from that FILTHY EMPIRE!” Zim announced as he put his hands on his hips.

“I shall start with shutting off any long distance communications to The Massive. I can’t have the Tallest find out I’ve rebelled against the Empire! I’ll be deleted on the spot!” Zim explained as he begun to tinker away at the TV monitor.

Unfortunately, Zim had accidentally called the Tallest in the process.

The Tallest groaned as they begrudgingly answered the call.

“What do you want now, Zim?” Red grumbled.

Zim let out a scream the moment the Tallest appeared on screen. He may have rejected the Irken Empire, but he still didn’t want to invoke the wrath of the Tallest.

“Yeah, can’t you see we’re- Hey! Who’s that behind you?” Purple squeaked as he gestured to you.

His PAK sparked a bit as he spoke.

Sweat begun to pour down Zim’s face. This was not good! Not only will the Tallest find out he had betrayed the Empire but they will also find out he had chosen to serve you instead.

To make matters worse, Red had also turned to look at you and his PAK sparked too.

Oh no. Oh no! No! No! No!

This was not good at all! All Zim could do was scream and try to hide you away.

“Hey! Don’t hide them from us!” Purple snapped as he shoved some donuts into his mouth.

“Yeah! Just answer the question, Zim.” Red commanded as he folded his arms.

“This human is simply just one of my experiments! Now I must continue my duties at once! Zim ou-”

“Woah! Woah! Wait! We actually could use that human for uh.. something.” Red stuttered.

“Man, they’re pretty..” Purple sighed.

“Pretty…useful! They seem like a useful asset to the Empire! Just let us beam them aboard the ship and we’ll promote you!” Red lied as he clasped his hands together.

You let out a gasp. As much as you would’ve loved to chew out Zim’s shitty excuses for leaders, you didn’t want them to kill him. All you could do was stand there in shock.

Zim wasn’t feeling much better either.

Zim felt his squeedilyspooch churn. Normally, Zim would be thrilled at the offer of a promotion but now that he no longer wanted to serve the Empire, Red’s offer was worthless to him. However, Zim couldn’t just simply deny a request from the Tallest. Even though he was no longer loyal to them, he didn’t want to be deleted! However, he didn’t even want to think about what horrors those monsters had in store for you.

“Computer! Put the Tallest on hold!” Zim hissed as he pointed to the ceiling.

“Tallest put on hold!” The computer bellowed as the screen paused.

“Are you sure they’re on hold this time?” Zim asked as he narrowed his eyes.

“Yes. Tallest have been put on hold. I double checked.” The computer conformed.

“Good! At least I managed to buy us some time.” Zim sighed as he turned to face you.

“I need to think of a way out of this mess! C’mon, Zim! Think! Think! THINK!” Zim ranted as he paced back and forth.

You let out a deep sigh and looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to be sent to those bastards! Your fear of what they might do to you aside, you wanted to stay by Zim’s side. You didn’t want to abandon him like they did!

However, you had a feeling that the Tallest wouldn’t be too happy if Zim denied their request. As much as you didn’t want to abandon Zim, you also didn’t want him to die.

You knew what you had to do.

“Zim!”

Zim stopped his pacing for a moment and looked at you.

“Send me to the Tallest!” You commanded as tears begun to form in your eyes.

“WHAT?! YOU WISH TO BE SENT TO THE TALLEST?! HAVE YOU THE BRAIN WORMS?!” Zim roared as he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you.

“Zim! Please understand! I hate them with every fiber of my being but they might kill you if you don’t give me to them! I can’t let you die, Zim! I love you too much!” You sobbed.

“AND I CAN’T LET YOU DIE EITHER! WHO KNOWS WHAT THOSE DIABOLICAL MONSTERS HAVE IN STORE FOR YOU?!” Zim wailed.

“Zim. That’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’d do anything for you.” You insisted.

“But-”

“Anything.”

“You would really risk your life…For mine?” Zim’s voice quivered as he spoke.

“Of course I would! I love you, Zim. You mean everything to me.”

Zim let go of your shoulders as more tears fell from his eyes.

“I love you too, Y/N. As much as I can’t bare to lose you, you make a good point. I guess I don’t really have a choice do I?” Zim’s voice shrank as he spoke.

“No. I guess not.” You sighed as you rubbed your arm,

“So, I guess this is goodbye?” Zim choked out as more tears begun to stream down his cheeks.

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“I’ve heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason. Bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those… Who help us most to grow if we let them. And we help them in return.

Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s trueBut I know I’m who I am todayBecause I knew you…

Like a comet pulled from orbit

As it passes a sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder

Halfway through the wood

Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?

But because I knew you…

I have been changed for good” Your voice quivered as you sang.

Zim sniffled and cleared his throat.

“It well may be…That we will never meet again inn this lifetime. So let me say before we part, So much of me is made of what I learned from you.

You’ll be with me. No matter how near or far.And now whatever way our stories end. I know you have re-written mine

By being my friend…” Zim gently took your hands in his.

“Like a ship blown from it’s course

By a solar wind

Like a seed dropped by a spacebird

On a distant world

Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?

But because I knew you…” Zim gave your hands a gentle squeeze.

“Because I knew you..” You sniffled.

“I have been changed for good.” You both sang.

“And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness. For all the things I’ve done you blame me for.” Zim let go of your hands and bowed before you.

“But then, I guess we know that there’s blame to share.” You helped Zim to his feet.

“And none of it seems to matter anymore!” You and Zim’s voices melted together as the song continued.

“Like a comet pulled from orbit

As it passes a sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder

Halfway through the wood”

“Like a ship blown from it’s courseBy a solar windLike a seed dropped by a spacebirdOn a distant world”

“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?

I do believe I have been changed for the better.”

“And because I knew you…” Tears streamed down your cheeks

“Because I… knew you” Zim sniffled.

“I have been changed….

For good…” You both sang as you pulled each other into a tight hug.

“Y/N…Oh how I’ll miss you so…” Zim whispered as he clung to you for dear life.

“I’ll miss you too, Zim.” You sniffled as you returned the hug.

After a few more minutes, Zim released you from the hug.

“Goodbye, my love.” Zim choked out as he reluctantly loaded you into the teleporter.

Zim took the Tallest off hold and dried his tears.

“Very well, my Tallest. I will send you the human.” Zim tried to sound sincere but every word came out dripping with venom.

and with that, Zim cut the call and sent you to The Massive.

#invader zim #invader zim headcanons #Invader zim tallest #invader zim red #invader zim purple #Anonymous #defying gravity invader zim

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