(A/N) Hi!...Total lack of conversation starters right there. I was not sure what grade Dib, and consequently Zim, were in at the time of the series. So I made it fourth grade and just for kicks, they are now in sixth grade beginning their third year as enemies. Anyway, hope you enjoy the story and warning: I'm a horribly sporadic updater. Minus that, on with the show.

Middle School. The stuff of most children's nightmares. Larger building. More people to worry about. Older bullies. Evil teachers. More evil teachers. Actual homework. And of course the locker. That ugly, impossible to color-coordinate, always too small, metal box. That metal box where belongings could be "safely" kept and of which Dib's head was getting an up close and personal look at; unfortunately for him.

Actually, since this was his head's sixth trip into the locker's personal space, his eyes were somewhat unfocused and his brain had stopped picking up on details such as the inevitable scratches that marred the surface of the locker. As his head made its sixth return trip into normal school space, only to be smashed back into the locker for the seventh time, Dib somehow got his brain into working order and opened his mouth to scream for help.

However, all that came out was a rather pathetic groan. As his head was forcefully lifted up, he heard someone, with a different voice than that of the bullies, say something. The bullies who were "just knocking him around" actually stopped; so his head, instead of being smashed into the locker, actually remained in a somewhat more normal position in relation to his body. The voice didn't say anything special, just a clichéd line from countless movies:

"Let him go"

Dib lifted his head. He had to wonder who in their right mind would help him. None of the older kids would soil their reputations for him; if they even noticed the situation (at lunch time at a deserted end of the school-not likely) and as for the kids in his own grade…Well, he was just the loner freak who had the screwed up family and always talked about aliens.

Speaking of aliens, that voice had sounded eerily familiar. But that made no sense. Why would Zim help him?

His brain, starting to get back into working order, reprimanded the place in his mind that the question came from. The question and situation it described was completely illogical and furtherm-

However, a sucking noise stopped that train of thought before it could get any further. A noise that sounded suspiciously like…Oh no, he's sucking out their brains. The logical side of his brain responded with what sounded like the beginning of another rant about why Zim would never reveal his alien identity…and why he would never suck the brains out of three students who did not have an IQ of 50, even added together. The part of Dib's mind that had started the whole argument with a simple question now gave a simple answer: "Open the eyes to find the truth." While the complex part of Dib's mind sputtered about how Zim might kill him too for seeing his "secret" identity and demanding to know who had said/written that quote, Dib did as ordered and opened his eyes.

Dib had no expectations of what he would see, or so he told himself. But whatever he had believed would happen, it was not the sight of the three bullies, now cowering on the floor curled up on the floor in a fetal position and one with the added touch of sucking his thumb. And standing over them, was not Zim in his somewhat-threatening and freakish-yet-normal alien skin or even a teacher or two. Nope, contrary to any expectations Dib might have had, it was his sister, Gaz, sucking the last dregs of soda out of a straw and thumbing something in on her cell-phone.

And with that shock, on top of all the other pains and bruises and internal conflict Dib had experienced in the past six minutes, and with the added bonus of his logical brain shutting up due to his mind's simple statement: I did, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor. The last memory Dib had, before his eyes closed was of Gaz sucking the last drop out of her straw, chucking the soda can into a garbage, snapping the cell-phone closed, and with her trademark "Whatever," walking away.

(A/N) Well people. I want details. Too many run-on sentences? Glaring problems? Big words that no sixth grader should be using? Too many pronouns and not enough clarification? (I do actually have a problem with that in real life) Too many weird or awkward phrases? (Another real life problem) Just general issues. I want to know; Bring it on nitpicky readers and hopeful reviewers. I, amazingly, am actually asking for criticism….Good Lord, I've become a masochistic author. Gaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.

……….…….

On second thought, any kind of review would be nice….But seriously, I actually want my story to be nitpicked.