Continuation
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Invader Zim!
A/N: I've had terrible writer's block lately. But this idea came to me in a daydream. This takes place about 5 years after the show, so it's about 4 years after the events of "Merry Christmas, Master", since that took place a year after the show. That's all I want to say. I don't know if this will be a chapter story or a three part story. I'm still deciding, but, enjoy the read, so for now, I'll have it as maybe a two-shot.
Part 1: Could I Continue?
Could I continue? Continue living? I've lived for 115 pathetic Earth years, maybe I'll live a little longer if I'm lucky. He thought bitterly to himself. It's been five years since Red and Purple labeled Zim a Defective.
Defective… damn, even that very word mocks me… Zim thought. It's been so damningly long without interaction with Irkens that Zim was forgetting his own native tongue. The alien grew quite a bit in the years he's stayed on Earth. Being forced to eat Earth food to survive after being exiled here was pitiable for his taste, though that was what alcohol was for.
He gulped down a swallow of strawberry wine. It was strong; not the strongest form of alcohol he's tasted, but it had a nice flavor to him, all things considered. He's gotten used to drinking so much that he could hardly even taste the alcohol anymore, let alone smell it. Zim glared at nothing but the half empty bottle in distaste. There was nobody else there. He couldn't talk to GIR; the robot hides every time the Irken drinks.
The alien sighed again and took another swallow of wine straight from the bottle. It was a sad, shallow existence he lived. He was a prideful soldier… wait…
That's what he thought he was. But all Zim was… it was a lie. A damn lie he told himself all these years. Zim never told anyone that he was Defective, not even himself. He put on the high and mighty facade played by all of the collective Irken Empire just to keep the truth hidden from himself. If he didn't believe, nobody else would either, right?
At least, that was what he thought. In fact, that was what made everyone suspicious of Zim. He tried too hard to be considered "normal" by his species' standards. It was already hard for him because he was shorter than almost everyone. At least back then. Now he was taller than almost all of the invaders, standing at five feet, two inches tall; about taller than most invaders dream to be. He would have been promoted if he wasn't Defective.
But now, that didn't even matter. He was stuck here on Earth til he died, which would be a long time if he died the natural way. He was only 11 in Irken years, and for all he knew, he could live to be over 70 in his species' years, which was the equivalent of 700 Earth years.
He took another swallow of his wine and set the bottle down, seeing as it was almost empty. "Another bottle, almost empty again. Just like this life I lead." Zim said. There was no slur to the alien's voice, although the number of bottles on the floor suggest there should be. Six bottles of wine littered the floor, all drained of their essence.
Zim laid back on the couch, eyes narrowed at the wall in a glare. He sighed, diverting his attention away from the wall and to his bare feet, why he did so, he doesn't even know. Mannerisms that come with binge drinking, probably. His eyes closed for a brief moment, but to his annoyance, a knock was heard at the door. Grabbing his bottle, Zim begrudgingly walked to the door.
"Who is it?!" He yelled, irritated that someone would dare come to his house during one of his drinking episodes? "It's me, Zim, open the door." He knew that voice. It was Dib. Muttering a few choice words underneath his breath, the Irken opened the door to let the human in, something he wouldn't have dared of doing in the past.
Dib had grown quite a lot in the five years Zim remained on Earth. The sixteen year old towered over the alien, being almost a foot taller than he was. Dib favored his father's appearance a lot, though he didn't wear the goggles Professor Membrane wore. The teen never gave up his preferred style of the trenchcoat and boots, but he started wearing all black as opposed to the way he dressed when he was younger.
"Why are you here, Dib?" Zim asked, venom dripping in the alien's voice. It unnerved the teen a little bit. "You haven't been in Skool for a while. You've missed a lot of days. Are you feeling OK?"
"I feel like the same piece of shit I always feel like, Dib. Thanks for asking. Now leave." Zim spat. The teen refused to comply with the alien's request. "Why does it smell like wine in here? Is this what you've been doing? Poisoning yourself with all these drinks?! How many did you drink, man?!"
"Seven. And that's just today. Now leave already. I still have weapons in my PAK." Zim snarled. Dib still didn't budge. He knew the alien was bluffing, even if he was hopped up on alcohol. But to have drank seven bottle of very strong strawberry wine and still be sober? That meant the Irken still knew what he was doing, so he still had control of his actions.
Though, the weird thing is, Dib expected Zim to be a lightweight with ANY form of alcohol.
"You still here?" He heard the Irken's voice say with a tone of snarkiness that sounded like Dib was talking to Gaz. But that didn't really surprise the teen much these days. Ever since Christmas Eve five years ago, Zim hasn't been the same, haughty, arrogant, and childish self he used to be. The Irken almost reminded Dib of his intimidating Gothic sister in a way. Zim wasn't anywhere near as intimidating as Gaz, but with his angered state, it sure as hell scared Dib.
"Yeah, I'm still here. Why have you been sitting here like this, drinking so damn much?! It isn't healthy!" Dib exclaimed. Zim swallowed another gulp of wine and glared at the human teen.
"I'm fucking miserable, genius! Even you should know that much!" Zim retorted, walking back to the sofa with the bottle in his mouth. Dib rolled his eyes at the Irken. He figured Zim was going to be as difficult as ever.
"Why are you still here, Dibstick? Get lost! You're causing me grief with your presence!" Well that was a new one. Usually Zim would say things like, "You're annoying Zim with your presence." or "You're spreading your filth everywhere, human! Get out of my base!"
But as of late, Zim has been acting totally different from his former self. Dib didn't exactly know why, but he knew part of the story. It obviously had something to do with the Tallests, no doubt. Those guys were pretty much Irken gods, and all Zim wanted from them were their approval of his plans.
"Your mood… it's because of your leaders, isn't it?" Dib asked. Though that on his part was foolish to do.
"Those bastards are NOT my leaders! Those stupid fucks have to kiss my ass before they tell me who my leaders are!"
That line surprised Dib to no end. I don't get this! Since when would Zim say THAT about his so-called "Almighty Tallest"? Zim got up from the couch and walked towards the door, not even bothering to put his disguise on. Growling, the furious Irken threw an empty wine bottle at some children playing in the street. It hit a little boy on the head, shattering the bottle and causing the child to bleed profusely. Without so much as a laugh or a sneer, Zim walked back inside.
"Why did you do that?! You probably hurt someone!" Dib yelled in outrage.
"I threw it because some children were playing too damn loud. Any more questions?" Dib glared at Zim then. The teen was used to alien's attitude toward humans, but to throw a glass wine bottle as hard as he did just because some little kids were playing too loud? Well that was just downright cruel!
"Look, why are you acting like this!? You're acting just like Gaz right now; annoyed by the littlest things! Not to mention you're being a total dickhead right now! Why are you so upset?!"
Zim didn't say anything for a moment. And by "a moment", it really meant that the two just sat there for ten minutes without really saying anything. Then Zim spoke up again, in a quiet whisper, saying, "Could I continue living?" Dib heard the whisper, but was surprised why Zim said that.
"Can you tell me what's going on, Zim? Don't think I'm still trying to take you down, those days are fucking over. Just talk to me, man. That's all I want you to do." Zim turned toward Dib and looked the boy right in his amber brown eyes.
"I'm a Defective. I'm not an Invader, I'm a Defective. Something that shouldn't even exist." Those words echoed in Dib's mind. Something that shouldn't even exist.
People reminded Dib that daily. It was pathetic how much the human race sucked. Aliens enticed Dib for a number of reasons. For one, there may be races out there like humans, but are much more harmonious with one another. Being able to reach the stars, to communicate with advanced beings.
But it seemed that the Irkens were more like humans than Dib could ever think. "Hello? Earth to Dib? Helloooo?" Zim's voice interrupted Dib from his thoughts.
"Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said. Zim, you realize you aren't the only one who gets ridiculed by his race- the same bullshit happens to me too! Nobody believes me and thinks I'm insane for believing in the paranormal! Hell, YOU'VE been here for five years and everyone STILL thinks you're just a weird kid with a skin condition!"
Zim scoffed at what Dib said. "So? So fucking what if you believe that you relate to me just because of what those stupid fucks think? To be perfectly honest, Dib, you've had it MUCH better than I have, that's for damn sure."
The human raised a brow at Zim's notions. "How have I had it better than you?" Dib asked. "Tell me something, Zim. How have I had it better than you?! Huh?! Is being bullied for what I like OK? Is sitting alone with nobody but my bitch of a sister OK?! TELL ME! TELL ME WHAT'S SO GOOD ABOUT MY SORRY ASS EXISTENCE, HUH! WHAT'S THE ONE THING I HAVE THAT YOU DON'T HAVE, ZIM?!"
Zim didn't say anything for a moment. He shifted his gaze back to his wine bottle, then set it down on the table. The Irken sighed, then turned back toward Dib again. Magenta eyes looking straight at amber brown.
"You have a choice on what you want to be, Dib. You have a choice on how to live your life… if you want to live your life. I don't have that luxury. My race doesn't have that luxury, and you want to know why? Our goddamn "leaders", that's why. They assign us what we do, and that's what we do until we die, be it in the heat of battle, be it because of the damn Tallest, or be it because of old age; and that in itself is a luxury." Zim took the last swallow of the seventh bottle of wine and set it on the table. He stood up, focusing his bug like eyes on the human.
"That's got to be the one thing I don't understand about the Earth that I actually like. You have a lot more freedom than we do. Sure, you still have your moronic leaders, pestilence, and chemicals in your water, but hey, at least the lot of you are free. If an inferior race has more freedom than a superior race, then shouldn't the superior race get that same luxury?" That last comment made Zim laugh. There was no spite, no hatred, nothing angry about it. The laugh was actually kind of joyful.
"Superior race my ass. Irkens base their leaders on height, Zim. Doesn't that seem stupid to you since you were originally the shortest Irken?" Dib asked. The Irken narrowed his eyes in distaste, though not at Dib, specifically. It was because of the comment.
"Actually, yes. But it's prohibited to say anything about that. One of the laws we're bound by. Thing of it is, that always bothered me. A lot of Irk's laws and customs bother me. I couldn't speak my mind about it though because that'd basically be my death. Free thinking Irkens are dubbed Defectives."
"Is that why you were dubbed Defective? That would surprise me; you acted a LOT different when we were kids. You mean to tell me that whole thing… was a FACADE?!" Dib asked, eyes wide in surprise. Zim nodded in agreement and that made his eyes go as wide as saucer pans- if THAT could even describe how wide they were.
"That was my facade; I was trying to act like the rest of my race. If everyone knew I was a freethinker, I would have been killed. But my attempts to act normal failed miserably, as you can see from my squalor," Zim said, gesturing to both himself and the messy condition of his base. The base had glass bottles littered on the floor, and there were two Bloaty's pizza boxes next to the TV. As for Zim himself, he was currently wearing a red shirt and his old legging-like pants that were part of his original uniform, only they were torn at the knees.
"In a way, I guess squalor on Earth isn't as bad as living in squalor being a Food Service Drone on Foodcourtia. I still have nightmares about some of the messes I had to clean."
"You've been through quite a lot in your life, haven't you? Random question though, but how old are you? Earth years or Irken years, it doesn't matter what age."
Zim was off-put by the question, as one of his eyes quirked in confusion. "Why would you want to know something as generic as that? Well, whatever. I'm 115 of your Earth years, so that makes me 11 years and five months old on Irk." The answer surprised Dib greatly.
"YOU'RE ONLY 11 ON YOUR HOME PLANET?! HOW?!" Zim shrugged, which wasn't a satisfying answer to Dib. "It's just because of how time flows on my planet. Irk is in another galaxy than Earth is, which, of course, explains the temporal difference. The math is kind of aggravating to do, so I'm not going to discuss it." To Dib, that was a better answer. He would have liked to hear the math about how that works, but hey, he forgets he's talking to someone who was just binge drinking ten minutes ago.
Speaking of though… how is he still sober? I mean, I'm glad he isn't drinking anymore right now, but how is he sober?! That wine is some of the strongest I've ever smelled! That was something confusing to Dib.
"Are you going to keep zoning out? If you do, I'm going to ask you to leave again. Staring off like that is kind of creepy." Dib stopped staring off into space and focused his attention back on the Irken. "Before I leave, I just have to ask this: how are you NOT drunk right now?"
"I get tipsy at ten bottles, and I get drunk at sixteen. That's of this human wine though. This stuff is soda compared to a stash of Vortian Firewater I used to keep somewhere. Is that all?"
"Yeah that's all. See ya tomorrow, Spaceboy." Dib said, getting off the couch and walking out the door. "Hold on, Dib," Zim walked toward the teenager. "Thanks, I guess, for coming over here… and for listening." And that was when the Irken turned away and the two former enemies parted ways.
Did I hear that right, though? Did Zim… thank me? Heh. Never in a million years would I think the "Almighty Zim" would say that to me. Well, without all the pressure from seeking approval from his entire race, maybe Zim isn't so bad after all.
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A/N: I'm still alive folks! Ok, before I get any responses or questions, let me say this stuff. 1, I know Zim and Dib are very OOC in this. Continuation takes place after Merry Christmas Master by 4 years, as mentioned in the first note. So, Zim's thoughts about his race have DEFINITELY changed, especially after that story. Why Dib is being nice to Zim, well, this is NOT ZaDR, but ZaDF. This is an experimental story too, so I wrote this on a whim, basically.
As for my other IZ stories though, they're still alive! Serenade, hmm, well, I may have to fix some things there. As for Crystal Child, I'm going to try to work on the chapter I haven't published. I've kind of lost motivation on publishing pretty much. It's been increasingly difficult, but it's best that I don't give away any details. Nothing personal though.
That's all I have to say for right now! CallieSizemore601, signing off.