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zimndib · 1 month ago

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Doppelganger adrift (part 1)

(A Zadr one shot-roleplay between me and a friend. I wrote for Dib, them Zim. The two are written to be roughly 25-30ish here)

They were supposed to be gone a day. Two, max.

It was just a supply run—a trip to a mined-out asteroid belt to gather a rare mineral Zim insisted was vital for shielding the Earth base’s scanners from “cosmic idiocy.”

But something went wrong.

An unexpected debris field. A system glitch. A slow leak in the fuel regulator.

Now the ship—Zim’s “modestly sized and extremely superior auxiliary cruiser”—was stalled mid-drift. They were somewhere between charted space and nowhere, orbiting a half-dead asteroid.

Inside, the temperature had dropped significantly, despite Zim’s best attempts to fix the heating systems. The lights flickered every twenty-three minutes.

Gir was already in sleep mode. Of course. That left them alone.

⸻

ZIM stood at the control panel, hunched and muttering Irken curses under his breath. The screen buzzed faintly, still scanning for the mineral they were after, but the progress bar hadn’t moved in over an hour.

He pressed a few buttons harder than necessary. Then harder still.

The static didn’t change.

“Stupid rock. Stupid signal. Stupid Dib and his fragile skin that can’t even survive one little radiation leak…”

He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder. Dib wasn’t in the cockpit. He’d said something about checking the cargo bay and disappeared.

Zim swallowed, antennae twitching in the silence. He hated this quiet. It was the wrong kind of quiet.

Heavy. Pressurized. Like the ship itself was watching.

The light overhead flickered again. The monitor flashed static.

Zim didn’t flinch—but his hand trembled slightly as it hovered above the console.

“…This is fine,” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “Zim thrives in deep space. Zim was born in the dark. Zim—does not get cold. Or tired. Or…”

His voice dropped.

“…lonely.”

He blinked. Realized he was gripping the console hard enough to crack it. Let go.

Then the monitor chirped faintly. A ping.

Zim straightened, relief washing over his face like breath returning to a drowning body. “Ah! At last! A trace mineral reading!”

But the readout didn’t match. It wasn’t the mineral they were looking for.

It was life signs.

Weak. Near the cargo bay.

Zim’s brow furrowed. He immediately turned on his heel and stalked down the narrow corridor toward the back of the ship—boots clanking softly against cold metal.

“Dib, if you’re poking glowing things again I swear on Tallest Purple’s least favorite toenail—”

The hallway lights dimmed again.

Something creaked. Not metal.

Zim slowed. Then stopped.

“…Dib?”

Dib sat in his room, if he could call it that. His- well whatever Zim was to him, had called it a “carbon life form nest’ It was a small room equipped with basic furniture, a lumpy bed that the Irken had definitely recycled from the curb and has a small-simple bathroom attached. Zim had done a great deal of work to adjust the ship to support a human being, the motivation eluded him.

As thrilling as it had been, and as grateful as Dib had felt to be included in Zim’s space errands, the raven-haired man also felt like an idiot.

They’d gone up on several occasions together, begrudgingly making a really good team when it came to watching each other’s hides.

That space-roach would never admit it but Dib was pretty sure Zim was just desperate for the back up. Having a bounty over one’s head and being well known in most of developed space just did that to a guy.

Dib bit at his nails, it hadn’t been to long since the ship had jerked and paused, now drifting along almost dead.

He’d never considered dying out in space alone with- him. To be honest Dib didn’t fear death, he’d always been a little on the morbid side, he looked at death like a challenge, like something that pursued him but could never keep up.

He really only regretted not even telling Gaz he was going. It was a short trip, a familiar one they’d gone on many times before. If he gave her a heads up every time he was heading out to space surely she’d start getting pretty annoyed.

So if they couldn’t come upon some sort of solution, he’d left his sister and father to simply wonder. Guilt washed over him, filling him with determination. He didn’t want to do that to them.

Dib headed towards the cargo bay to access what they had handy.

THE CARGO BAY — UNLIT, UNSTABLE, UNEASY

The metal doors hissed open with a groan that echoed too loud in the hollow space.

Zim stepped inside slowly, the glow from his PAK casting long, strange shadows across the stacked crates and sealed supply units. The air felt colder here. Tighter.

He scanned the darkness until—

There. A figure moving near the emergency stock crates. Pale skin. That ridiculous coat.

Zim’s relief was immediate but refused to show itself. Instead, he crossed his arms and called out with his usual dramatic disdain.

“There you are! Skulking about like a rodent with emotional baggage! I detected life signs in this region and assumed either you were poking something radioactive, or we’d been boarded by sentient lint.”

His voice bounced against the walls.

No answer.

Zim blinked. Took a step closer. “Dib?”

Dib didn’t respond. He was still crouched at the side of one of the crates, back to Zim, one hand resting on its edge as if to steady himself.

Zim narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing down here? The heating grid’s failing. Your human meat sack will freeze before you can yell ‘I told you so’ if you stay in this drafty box of metal stupidity.”

Still no response.

Something wasn’t right.

Zim moved closer, this time with more caution. The light from his PAK illuminated Dib’s back—tense, hunched. Shoulders drawn up high.

His fingers twitched slightly.

Zim slowed. His voice dropped to something near a whisper. “…Dib?”

Then, quietly—

A sound. Faint, but sharp. A gasp.

Not the kind pulled in with alertness. But one that clawed its way out. Desperate. Silent. Terrified.

Zim froze.

Dib wasn’t awake.

He was shaking. Shoulders trembling, hand clenching so hard his knuckles had gone white. He was caught in it—one of those primitive subconscious hallucinations humans were cursed with.

A nightmare.

Zim hated nightmares.

They were unpredictable. Illogical. Embarrassing. And yet… his own hadn’t stopped since their last real battle—since the day the Tallests had sent out the final order.

He’d never told Dib that.

Zim stood over him now, watching Dib writhe silently—trapped somewhere only he could see. The once-bold human now curled inward, a whisper of his usual bluster. There was something about it that made Zim feel too many things at once.

He knelt, slowly. Awkwardly.

Reaching out, he touched the sleeve of Dib’s coat.

“Dib. Hey. Wake up. You’re doing that thing again.” His voice was rough around the edges. Not mean, just unsure.

He gave a little shake—just enough to rattle, not to startle.

“…You’re not alone, you know,” Zim muttered. “Not this time.”

Dib glided in through a small door way having to cringe his neck downward to fit. Some of the older parts of the ship were still a bit on the smaller size. Earths gravity had allowed Zim a small growth spirt however he still remained rather petit.

He could hear shuffling as he ducked in, Zim must have come to a similar deduction. They needed to know what was on hand before they could even attempt trying to survive their grim circumstances.

“Yeah… I’m here.” Dib muttered hearing the irken’s voice. Zim sounded strangely concerned and this set Dib on an almost immediate state of alert.

THE CARGO BAY — MOMENTS LATER

Zim flinched.

“Yeah… I’m here.”

The voice didn’t come from in front of him.

It came from behind.

He turned so fast his claws scraped the floor.

There, by the low entry hatch, Dib stood—half ducked from the narrow doorway, eyes sharp with confusion and alarm. Not dream-trapped. Not shaking. Very much awake.

Which meant—

Zim whirled back toward the figure crouched by the crates.

Gone.

The air was empty, save for a faint wisp of static where his PAK light passed over the spot. A gentle crack of cooling metal filled the silence like a bad joke. There was nothing there.

No crate. No crouched figure. No tremble. No gasping breath.

Just cold, empty floor.

Zim staggered back a step, eyes wide, antennae up in full alert.

“That wasn’t you,” he said without turning. “That wasn’t you. I touched—someone. Something. It looked like—”

His voice caught. Not out of fear—Zim didn’t fear—but something ancient in his blood pulled tight. He hissed through gritted teeth. “This ship… this section—hasn’t been powered since the last patch update. There shouldn’t be any life signs registering here. I scanned it myself.”

He turned to Dib slowly now, voice low. “I scanned you. I followed you.”

And still. The echo of that soft, panicked breath.

The shape curled into itself, just barely wrong.

Zim’s claws twitched. “There’s something else on this ship.”

Zim’s face was contorted in a way that told Dib everything.

Almost like the paranormal investigator instincts kicked in, Zim looked exactly like he’d seen a ghost. If it was paranormal there was no force in the universe that would convince Zim so he chose to keep the conclusion to him self. Space ghosts could wait, they needed to get home above all else.

“Hey well handle that too but right now... We need to take an inventory of our supplies. Ration what we can, see if there’s anything here that could…” He hesitated for a moment. “Help.” He finished and his voice made him cringe. It had been soft and almost pathetic, like a grasp at hope that was devoid of realness.

Dib got started immediately, notebook and pin in hand, thumbing through wooden crate after wooden crate. Stashing a few items he found in his trench coat along the way. Making a small pile of energy drives, plutonium gas populations, and other things they seemed mildly useful. They just needed to jerry-rig something with just enough power to jump the engine. Anything.

Dib turned to the pensive Zim with a mild annoyance.

“We can check the bio scanners again together, but since your already back here care to give me a hand?” Dib used a mild tone, carful to prevent any frustration from bleeding into his words.

Zim didn’t move.

He stood there, posture rigid, eyes still locked on the empty space where nothing now sat. The place where his brain swore he’d seen Dib. Where his claws had brushed soft, too warm fabric. Where he had felt a heartbeat.

He forced his jaw to unclench. Stress hallucinations. It wasn’t impossible. Not with his PAK in adaptive overload mode. It had been compensating for the low temperature, the fuel drop, the atmospheric irregularities in the mineral field. His systems were overstretched.

His mind was overstretched.

Dib’s voice broke the spiral.

“Hey, we’ll handle that too, but right now… we need to take an inventory of our supplies. Ration what we can, see if there’s anything here that could… help.”

Help.

Zim’s gaze flicked to Dib.

The human was already moving, practical and focused. His voice wavered—just enough to show he wasn’t blind to the gravity of things—but he was still trying. As if the sound of a pen on paper could drown out the cold.

Zim hated how grounding it was. And how much he needed it.

He flexed his claws. Looked down at them. They were shaking. Just slightly. Enough to be noticed if he reached for anything.

“We can check the bio scanners again together, but since you’re already back here, care to give me a hand?”

Zim’s gaze lifted.

Dib was looking at him. Not harsh. Not skeptical. Just… asking. Asking him to be part of the solution, even when Zim felt like he was becoming the problem.

The Irken clicked his tongue and marched stiffly forward. “Yes, yes—Zim is perfectly capable of manual sorting. I just didn’t want to steal your precious inventory glory, Dib. You humans adore making lists. It’s… pitiful.”

But his voice lacked its usual bite.

He crouched beside Dib at the crates, avoiding the patch of floor where the hallucination had been.

Zim reached for the next crate, then paused mid-motion, eyes flicking sideways.

“…If the scanners pick up another false life sign,” he muttered, not quite looking at Dib, “you’ll believe me next time, right?”

It wasn’t phrased as a confession. But it felt like one.

And somewhere deep in his PAK, the system quietly logged the irregular stress input. Flagged it.

PROTECTIVE INSTINCT OVERRIDE: INITIATED.

NEURAL HALLUCINATION THRESHOLD: EXCEEDED.

Zim’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

But he kept reaching for supplies with one hand—and kept the other closer to Dib than strictly necessary.

The humans resolve softened.

“I believe you…” He hummed still keeping himself on task instinctively playing it down. It was bizarre for Zim to sound so uncertain. They couldn’t afford Zim cracking like this now, but honestly it had been inevitable.

When they were kids he’d seen it happen for the first time on his cameras.

It had been Winter, a time he’d observed Zim stayed exclusively inside his base, and mostly out of trouble. The ‘frozen earth acid’ as the alien had called it made it insufferable for Zim to leave his home. This left the irken house locked and stir crazy.

He watched Zim on the cameras, the space-bug mostly still rooted to the couch almost staring through the television, cartoons on, Gir on the floor invested in them.

Zim had gotten up once, cursing in irken. Claws and eyes gesturing at the kitchen far from Gir’s post on the floor. Dib could only gawk as he seemed to bristle in anger, and appeared to be interrogating nothing at all.

Dib got chills.

Maybe an error that manifested from having more than one brain? Dib was cautious, knowing better than mention it any of the other times he saw the behavior.

Now- now Zim was looking for to to be acknowledged. Dib felt like he was now part of more than one, dangerous and unbeatable games.

Zim didn’t answer right away.

He just… paused. One hand halfway inside a crate full of rusted copper tubing, posture taut. Not frozen—but held. Like if he moved too fast, something would snap.

“I believe you…”

Dib’s voice echoed in the cold room like it didn’t quite belong there. Too soft. Too human.

Zim let out a breath. Quietly. Not a sigh. A release. The tiniest pressure valve opening somewhere beneath all his armor.

“…Of course you do,” he said, after a moment too long. “You’re not completely brain-dead.”

But his tone was dull. Empty. He didn’t even bother with a smirk.

Dib had said it simply, instinctively. But it echoed louder than any dramatic oath or scream. I believe you.

That wasn’t how their dynamic worked. Not traditionally. Not when they were enemies. Not when everything Zim did was exaggerated and everything Dib did was defensive.

But now?

Now Dib was here. Close. Calmer than Zim felt. Smarter than Zim wanted to admit. And Zim could feel that truth sitting between them like a third presence:

Dib had seen this before.

And Zim knew it.

He stiffened again.

“…You saw it, didn’t you?” Zim asked without looking up. His voice wasn’t demanding—it was resigned. “That winter. Back when you had those ridiculous trash cameras hidden in your mailbox.”

Dib’s pen faltered.

Zim continued, tone flat. “I wasn’t talking to nothing, you know. It looked like me. It was me. Standing in the kitchen. Laughing.”

His claws tightened on the tubing.

“I didn’t understand it then. Thought maybe it was… some residual simulation. A Pak memory glitch. But it talked back, Dib.” His voice cracked a little, catching on the consonants. “It said I wasn’t real.”

Zim stood. Too fast. The crate screeched on the metal floor.

“I don’t crack, Dib. My Pak—my design—doesn’t allow it. It adapts. It compensates. I was built to be alone.”

He turned to Dib, eyes glowing faintly in the dark bay light. No snarl. No smirk. Just wide, tired eyes.

“…But it’s getting harder. Out here.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t know what’s worse. That I might be seeing ghosts… or that I miss hearing you argue with me.”

Amber eyes met Zim’s magenta orbs. He caught as his own expression fell, to that of concern in the reflection of the glossy one’s looking back at him in a way they’d never before. Dib let it settle around him a moment more before responding.

“I’ve seen it a few times actually.” He corrected calmly. Defective. The word had nested just at the tip of his mind. Risky, but Zim said he missed their fighting. Dib took the leap. “Does it… have something to do with being defective?” His words were gentle as to not provoke.

“Sometimes for humans, our minds play tricks on us when we are overwhelmed.” Dib offered not knowing exactly what he was even getting at. He set down the quantum iron calibrators in his hand, into the maybe helpful pile, gaze unwavering from Zim’s.

Zim flinched.

Not visibly. Not like a human would. But something in the way his antennae pulled back—how his arms wrapped tighter around his middle, claw tips brushing the ribs of his uniform like he wanted to peel off his own skin—told the whole story.

“Does it… have something to do with being defective?”

The word hung in the cold air like a ticking bomb.

Zim didn’t speak right away. Just… stared at Dib.

It was the first time Dib had said it out loud. Maybe the first time anyone had—without venom.

Defective.

Not screamed across a battlefield.

Not hurled from a Tallest’s sneer.

Not whispered behind a closed lab door while drones measured his skull.

Just… asked. Offered.

Zim looked away, the motion jerky. Like his neck didn’t want to obey.

“…They said I was,” he muttered, voice a rasp. “That I couldn’t process orders right. That my Pak ran too many independent algorithms. That I talked back.”

His hands curled. “The Tallests said I shouldn’t have made it out of Smeet incubation. But I did. I was better than the rest of them. I survived planets they couldn’t pronounce. I wiped out colonies with style.”

He snorted bitterly. “But I glitched once. I questioned a command once. And they called it a malfunction. Not… not a decision.”

His voice broke on that last word.

He stared down at the cold floor. “If I am defective, then it’s because I… see things. Things they trained us not to see. Weakness. Regret. Wrong orders. Other smeets they should have saved.”

Silence.

Then—

“Sometimes for humans, our minds play tricks on us when we are overwhelmed.”

Zim looked up again. Slowly.

Dib’s gaze hadn’t moved.

His eyes weren’t angry. Or pitying. Just… open.

Zim hated how much it pulled at him.

“I don’t know if I’m overwhelmed,” Zim admitted, “but I know I can’t… calculate this anymore. I don’t know how to filter it. I keep hearing things. Feeling things that aren’t there.” He swallowed. “I don’t know what’s worse—if it’s all in my head, or if something is actually watching.”

He took a tiny step forward. Just one. But in Zim terms, it was a confession.

“You keep seeing me fall apart,” he whispered, “and you stay. Why?”

⸻

Dib let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck to release some tension. He’d expected offense and was met for the first time, raw honesty in its place. Weird trip, but if they were going to die anyways it was almost poetic he’d get a glimpse at a side of Zim he’d only been able to speculate existed before hand.

“I don’t watch you fall apart, I watch you overcome.” The human corrected. He reached for Zim, a hand outstretched to pull the irken from the ground.

“Let’s go check the bio-scanners again….” Dib paused. “And the oxygen levels.” He finished in a smaller voice.

Silence hung between them like a grim promise as they ascended in the direction of the cock-pit, a half broken rolling cart between them full of the items they’d sorted like a tiny, ember of something they were both to cowardly to call hope.

CORRIDOR – EN ROUTE TO THE COCKPIT

Their boots echoed softly as they moved in tandem, shoulders occasionally brushing when the ship jolted ever so slightly. The cart clattered behind them like a loyal, battered companion—its single squeaky wheel occasionally veering left, only to be nudged back in line.

Neither of them said much.

But Zim hadn’t let go of Dib’s hand right away. He hadn’t yanked away like usual, or barked some insult about filthy oils or human germs.

He’d just… stood there. For a second.

Letting the contact be.

Letting Dib pull him back up.

Now he kept glancing sideways as they walked—like he was trying to catch Dib’s expression without being obvious about it. The human was pensive, jaw set, eyes flicking between the dim corridor lights and the faint shimmer of stars outside the viewport.

Zim almost said something. Twice.

But what?

Thank you?

Don’t look at me like that?

I don’t deserve that kind of grace from you?

He said none of it.

Instead:

“…The oxygen filters were due for replacement three weeks ago,” he muttered. “I calculated the margin of error but didn’t account for the asteroid debris rupturing the outer seal on compartment four.”

Dib arched a brow. “So we could’ve been poisoned in our sleep?”

Zim cleared his throat. “Not poisoned. Just… slowly asphyxiated.”

“…Great.”

But his voice was soft. And maybe even a little amused.

Zim didn’t smile—but the corner of his mouth twitched.

When they reached the cockpit, Zim slid into the console seat and began typing commands. The screen buzzed to life with a faint whine.

“Recalibrating scanner frequency. I’ll boost the spectrum filters. If that thing you saw earlier—” Dib started.

“I saw it,” Zim said, firm. Not defensive. Just sure.

#zadr #invader zim dib #i am trash #writing #roleplay #freeform #gay shit #invader zim

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zimndib · 1 month ago

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Doppelgängers adrift (part 2)

A roleplay between me and a friend, I wrote for Dib and them Zim

Dib nodded. “Okay.”

Zim blinked. That was it. No interrogation. No “are you sure you’re not hallucinating again?” Just okay.

The scanner pinged once. Then again.

“Two life forms onboard,” Zim muttered, reading aloud. “Confirmed.”

Dib exhaled.

Then the screen flickered.

A third blip appeared—just for a second.

Then vanished.

Zim and Dib looked at each other.

No words.

But neither of them let go of the edge of the console.

Just in case.

“It’s paranormal.” Dib said as if it was a fact. “Ever heard of the third man syndrome?” He continued voice soft and sure. Zim didn’t speak, and that was a response of its own from the alien.

“Many humans in life or death scenarios who survive them, report seeing or hearing someone that’s not there. Some examples detail it, coming to their aid.” Dib kept his tone in controls as to not give it away, least he jinx it be letting it out. The small spark of optimism and hope now blooming within him. Sure it was crazy to think some benevolent force could be the key to their survival but what was Dib if not a little crazy? “Maybe it lead you to the supply bay for a reason….” Dib’s voice trailed off.

“What did you find in that corner?” Dib pointedly questioned.

Zim didn’t respond at first.

He just stared at the third blip on the screen—now gone—like it might reappear if he glared hard enough. His claws hovered over the console. Unmoving.

Dib’s voice cut through the quiet:

“Maybe it led you to the supply bay for a reason…”

That almost made Zim look at him.

Almost.

Instead, he turned back toward the hall. Toward that stretch of corridor he’d walked minutes ago. Where he’d heard the breath. Felt the weight of presence. Where he had knelt beside something that wore Dib’s shape—but pulsed wrong.

“What did you find in that corner?”

Zim’s head tilted slightly. His voice came slow.

“…It wasn’t a corner. That part of the bay had no shadows.” He folded his arms tighter, as if trying to shrink into them. “But there was a cold spot. Like something was… draining the heat from the wall. Like a vacuum where temperature should’ve been.”

He glanced at Dib now, just briefly. “I touched it. It felt… hollow.”

He didn’t say more.

Didn’t say how for a moment, he thought he’d grabbed Dib’s arm. Didn’t say how it smiled before it vanished. Didn’t say he’d felt like something climbed inside him and took a look around.

He didn’t want to give it that power.

But Dib’s words stuck.

Some examples detail it, coming to their aid.

Zim swallowed. “If it’s here to help… why does it feel like it’s watching for us to give up?”

His voice cracked at the end.

He quickly turned back to the scanner, adjusting the spectrum again.

“Boosting heat signature mapping. If it’s biological, even partially, it’ll leave a thermal echo. Unless it’s phased. Or made of anti-light. Or—ugh. Why do paranormal phenomena never follow standard rules?”

He sounded annoyed now. But it was thin armor.

His antennae still twitched like he expected the third blip to tap him on the shoulder.

“Did the cold spot feel like- there was physical damage to the ship or was it more atmospheric.” Dib continued, his voice had slipped into the tone he used when he would interview other humans who’d seen whatever cryptid or entity he was hunting. “Is there anything else you can tell me, the thing you saw did it talk? How did it move? I need to know everything.” Dib pressed. A familiar and almost reassuring feeling vibrating between them. Dib trying his best to calculate what it was Zim was experiencing a repetitive dance. However for once, Zim was open and swaying along.

Zim didn’t roll his eyes.

Didn’t scoff.

Didn’t call him a stupid human meat-obsessed nerd.

He just stood there, face drawn tight in the monitor glow, and answered.

“…Atmospheric,” he said, voice lower now. Focused. Like Dib’s calm questioning was a signal his brain could latch onto. “There wasn’t any hull damage. The structural readings were intact. But the air changed. Denser. Like pressure was folding inward instead of outward.”

He lifted his hand slowly, claws splayed, remembering.

“It didn’t speak. Not like Irkens do. Not like you do.” He hesitated, eyes flicking away. “But I… felt something. Like it knew me. And it wanted me to recognize it. Or maybe… it just wanted to see what I’d do.”

Zim’s antennae dipped low, not in fear, but contemplation.

“It didn’t move like a creature. It wasn’t bound by the floor. No footsteps. It just… appeared. Like a memory. A mirror of you, but wrong. Off by fractions. Too still.”

He clenched his fists. “And it didn’t blink.”

He looked at Dib now—really looked.

“And the worst part is… I didn’t care that it was wrong. Not at first. I saw your face and—I wanted it to be you.”

That came out raw. Too honest. He immediately looked away, claws twitching at his sides.

But he didn’t take it back.

He didn’t lie.

Dib’s involuntary reaction was to furrow his brows in a look of complete shock.

Zim’s words. “I wanted it to be you.” That landed. The paranormal detective’s resolve dropped that sounded a lot more malicious in motive, than the third man syndrome. Almost like a mimic. Like it using his likeness to manipulate Zim somehow.

Dib wasn’t a cowardly human, he chased after his fears since he could talk but even he felt a tinge frightened. His hands now fiddling with his coat appeared to be shaking but he mentally explained it away as being from the cold.

He pondered the purpose of this fear? If they couldn’t get the ship running in the next 3-4 hours it wouldn’t matter, he’d run out of oxygen and leave Zim arguably worse, floating endlessly in a dead craft with a corpse and a ghost. He’d likely go mad.

“Zim, we can’t worry about this now.” Dib’s own voice betraying him and revealing his fear and newfound urgency. The origins of such fear interchangeable between suffocating to death and encountering some sort of intergalactic doppelgänger.

Zim watched Dib’s expression fall—not with dramatics, but with something quieter. Something cold.

The shift in his eyes. The way his shoulders pulled inward. The way his hands shook even as he tried to hide it beneath layers of scientific rationale and self-assurance.

Zim didn’t mock it.

He didn’t dare.

“Zim, we can’t worry about this now.”

Dib’s voice cracked. Just slightly.

Zim’s chest tightened.

He wanted to say something arrogant, something ridiculous—wanted to declare that Zim would never let a ghost devour his only nemesis-slash-inventory assistant-slash-oxygen-leaking roommate—

But instead, he looked at Dib’s hand. The one still trembling slightly near his coat.

“…You’re scared.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t pity.

It was just observation.

Zim’s voice was quieter now, almost mechanical. “You think I’m going to go mad if we die out here.”

He turned slowly to the window, where the stars shimmered like frost. “That I’ll be left here. With your corpse. With it. Whatever it is.”

There was no venom in his tone. No sarcasm. Just an aching, exhausted truth.

Zim’s clawed fingers tapped against the console, once. Twice.

“…I would,” he admitted, softly. “Go mad, I mean. Probably start yelling at your empty chair again. Drawing your stupid hairline on the walls.”

His throat bobbed.

“You’d haunt me. I know it.”

He glanced at Dib, and for a moment—just one—he looked so very tired.

“But we’re not dead yet. And if something out there wants to wear your face—then it picked the wrong one.”

His voice dropped to a growl. A flicker of defiance.

“Because I’ll know the difference.”

He turned back to the console, typing quickly now.

“We have maybe three hours of oxygen left,” he muttered. “If I reroute the thermal conduits and purge the overflow from the outer tanks, I might—might—be able to spark a microburst jump. Not full warp. But maybe enough to reach the lunar relay station near Saran IX.”

He glanced sideways, magenta eyes sharp again.

“…You still willing to bet on Zim?”

His glasses slid down his face as he glanced over Zim’s shoulder. The Irken’s words putting to rest some of the fluttery anxiety dwelling in his core. Zim had seen through him, knew he was terrified and hadn’t belittled him for it. He hasn’t so much as mocked Dib for hours even before the ship stopped. His gut told him to be unsettled by this from Zim, but something else made space for it. Acceptance. Things were different now, maybe they had been for some time. Now, everything going on was solidifying this change and it was the one fear Dib didn’t resent.

“Yeah… always.” A low rasp that didn’t give anything away.

A moment of silence, the ship practically buzzing as Zim made his adjustments.

“I trust you.” Dib offered. He was still shaking, but he was also still holding on to that little ember of hope like it was a precious secret between them. Dib knew the weight of the words, knew what he’d just shifted by saying them.

IIt was worth the risk, being adrift in space really put things into perspective.

Zim’s claws paused above the console mid-keystroke.

Not because of a malfunction.

Not because of a readout.

Because of a single sound, low and hoarse:

“Yeah… always.”

He didn’t look at Dib. Couldn’t. Not yet. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was dense. A magnetic field stretching tight between two satellites that had spent years in erratic orbit.

And then—

“I trust you.”

Zim exhaled like something cracked inside his chest.

It wasn’t a gasp. It wasn’t a sob. It was just… relief. Heavy and staggering, like a ship finally shifting back into alignment after drifting off-course for too long.

He closed his eyes for a second—just a second.

The shaking in Dib’s hands hadn’t stopped. But he was still here. Still betting on Zim. Still believing him. And those three words? They weren’t said lightly.

Zim knew what that meant in human terms.

Hell, he knew what that meant in Irken terms.

And Irkens weren’t even wired for trust.

Which is probably why his Pak had gone so quiet.

No alerts. No red flags. Just a calm pulse of confirmation in his HUD.

EMOTIONAL SYNCHRONY: UNUSUAL INPUT. FUNCTION: UNLOCKED.

“…You shouldn’t,” Zim said quietly, his eyes still closed.

But it wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t sarcasm.

He opened his eyes again, staring at the monitor like it held the key to something sacred.

“You shouldn’t trust me. I’ve lied. I’ve attacked. I’ve tried to—”

He cut himself off.

Then, with a tremble in his voice: “But you do. And I’ll get us out. I will. Because if I die out here with you thinking you were wrong about me…”

He finally turned to face Dib. His expression was naked. No smugness. No fire.

Just Zim.

“…then I’ll never forgive myself.”

He went back to the keys. Faster now. Calmer.

Hope wasn’t a word Zim knew how to say. But right now? He was wearing it.

“Even if we die out here, I’m not wrong about you.” Dib snapped back immediately. “Shit happens, yeah sometimes it’s your fault or it’s my fault- but this time it just happened.” Dib half whispered as even he didn’t know why he was now so prone to clear communication.

Dib meant to reassure him, but the look of uncertainty in Zim that followed was telling. Zim’s plan likely had a low chance of working and that truth is what was flicking in the mechanical gaze.

“What can I do..? Let’s try it.” Dib said with the most offbeat tone he could manage. Then, and only then would he mention to Zim they could have a mimic on their hands.

COCKPIT — THREE HOURS TO OXYGEN FAILURE

Zim didn’t speak for a moment after Dib’s words.

“Even if we die out here, I’m not wrong about you.”

Zim’s fingers stalled. Not from doubt, but from something deeper. A kind of quiet ache he wasn’t built to name. Not wrong about me. No one had ever said that. No one had wanted to be right about Zim before.

He didn’t know what to do with that. So, as always, he moved forward.

“What can I do..? Let’s try it.”

Zim’s claws tapped again—faster, steadier.

“Redirect the secondary fuel lines to auxiliary thruster three,” he instructed. “If the surge hits at the wrong angle, we’ll implode. If it’s too weak, we’ll ricochet off the asteroid field and lose all stabilizers. If we hit it just right, we’ll breach the dead zone and slingshot toward the lunar relay.”

He turned to Dib. For once, he didn’t dramatize. He didn’t sneer.

“…I wouldn’t try this with anyone else.”

Then he paused. “Except maybe Tak. But she’d kill me halfway through, and you… don’t.”

It was almost sweet.

Zim guided Dib’s hands to the manual override. “On my mark.”

He entered the final command. A hum of energy pulsed through the floor—alive again. But barely.

Warning. Oxygen at 15%. Power surge detected.

“Now!”

Dib threw the switch.

The ship screamed. Metal groaned like the bones of a dying god. The cockpit lights flared red—then blue—then cut out entirely.

For three seconds, there was nothing but darkness.

And in that silence—

Something moved.

Not Zim. Not Dib.

Between them.

Just a whisper. A blur.

Dib felt the air drop—cold only where his shoulder had been brushed.

Zim heard it—a breath, not his own, mimicking his voice.

A near-perfect echo: “Now.”

Then—

The engines roared.

The ship lurched forward. The stars snapped sideways—motion returned.

They were moving.

They were alive.

But Zim’s eyes locked on Dib’s.

“…You felt that too, didn’t you?”

Dib didn’t just see it, he felt it and heard it. His knee jerk response to reach for the bio scanner, even an infrared scan could yield fascinating intel. However it was in vein as he was forced to crane his legs in awkward directions trying to maintain his footing.

The ships movement was disorienting as it seemed to be in a slow rotation as it plunged forward. A box of materials slid along the floor knocking both Dib and Zim’s legs out from beneath them. The pair landed with a loud thud, limbs tangled in a messy pile.

Dib’s gaze landed on a figure defying all logic and standing up right in the floor-turned ceiling. The moment he let out a gasp it seemed to dissolve into nothing.

“I saw it Zim, I saw it…” Dib breathed finally responding and trying to reassure to Zim it was real. “And I think I know what it is.” Dib panted, he rubbed at his temple his hand now stained crimson, he’d must of hit his head in the fall. Oh well.

The moment Dib hit the floor-turned-wall, Zim let out a string of snarled Irken curses that could’ve shattered planets if they had mass.

Their limbs were tangled—boots, claws, elbows, coat fabric—and for a second, all he could see was Dib’s face inches from his own.

Then the gasped words:

“I saw it, Zim… and I think I know what it is.”

Zim went utterly still.

His antennae twitched violently. He could smell copper—blood—and he jerked upward immediately, cradling the back of Dib’s head in one hand, searching for the injury with the other.

“You’re leaking!” he hissed, horrified. “I told you humans are too soft for space! Your heads split open like overripe Meekrob fruit!”

#zadr #invader zim dib #i am trash #writing #roleplay

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