Dib set a hand on his stomach.
It had been an hour since the Pak had come off. An hour.
The scars on his stomach were healing, barely. Blood still sluggishly dripped from the two round wounds. He'd tried to wrap them up, but crimson kept soaking through the gauze, and he'd run out of wrappings from his secret first aid stash. Luckily, it seemed to be slowing.
Dib's mind kept running in circles, and he tried to keep track of what had happened.
Zim's Pak had gotten knocked off by a dodgeball. He'd grabbed it, and there'd been a chase. It had attached itself to him on the bus, and… and… something with Dad's lab. It was a bit of a blur.
Well, he remembered what happened after- he tried to stop Destructio, but the second he'd scrambled out the hole in the wall, he'd kneeled over and puked his guts out.
Whether it was the foreign machinery's sudden loss, or it had Zim's blood on it and it had contaminated Dib, or… whatever, he'd lost track of the robot. Somebody had probably taken care of it.
He wasn't in the right state to take down a doomsday robot right now anyways. Not that he needed to, it had been made for a good reason, why stop it- no, don't think, don't think, not like that.
Dib bit his lip that still had the sting of acidic vomit.
Gaz had kicked the door open about ten minutes ago, and from what he could recall she'd been mad at Zim. He'd be out of commission for a day or two, at least- when Gaz was mad, people tended to get hurt. Thankfully, in this case, 'people' seemed to be Zim.
Zim. This was all his… his…
Dib could still feel him.
Could feel his thoughts, could feel everything that the Pak automatically rattled through. His history with machinery transferring to make building the robot easy, any facts about irken culture and society and history that happened to be relevant… Superior culture, not like pitiful human- no! No, no.
He was hollow and nauseous.
It hadn't simply overwritten him to make the robot, it had made such a strong shove in that direction Dib didn't even consider resisting. Maybe if he'd been less panicked, or more aware of what was going on, but he'd been slipping under, his meat brain nothing compared to a supercomputer.
His fingers tightened, and automatically dug into the holes in his chest. Dib let out a pained gasp- the painkillers could only do so much.
It had been so overwhelming. Zim's personality was strong, but the Pak was Zim squared, broken down to his basest desires and strapped with the power of a sun. Destroy Earth. Be superior and arrogant. Be Zim.
Dib pulled his fingers away from the wound, and for a moment was surprised to see blood that was deep red instead of pink staining them.
He needed a long shower.
A/N Reviews sweeten my blood-candies. Also they make me smile.