Dib awoke on a crowded street, head throbbing, a bruise blossoming on his temple. Falling face-first into a portal meant falling face-first onto the concrete—he cursed his theatrics, staggering blearily to his feet.
He looked around, searching for any signs of his home circa two-years ago; he hoped the portal had sent him a few months ahead, giving him plenty of time to prepare for Zim's arrival.
After a few seconds of careful observation, Dib realized something was very, very wrong.
Skyscrapers clawed at a stark blue sky, shimmering with a certain cleanliness that was uncharacteristic of his city. The people were dressed strangely; some in uniform, some in oddly cut shirts and tight-fitting jeans. And in the seemingly endless crowd he could not recognize a single face. Dib began to sweat.
This was not his home.
"Excuse me," he whimpered, tugging at the sleeve of an older woman. "Wh-where am I?"
"Chicago, dear. Are you lost?"
Dib nodded. Right place. "What year is it, ma'am?"
"What year is it?" She raised an eyebrow, taking note of his forehead. "Oh, it seems you've taken a nasty fall…do you know where your parents are?"
"No ma'am."
"Well, I guess we'll take you to the police. They'll keep you safe." The woman smiled—she was a petite little thing, with greying hair and a motherly smile. She took him gently by the wrist, and they pushed against the current of the crowd like salmon swimming upstream.
"Thank you," Dib said.
"Don't mention it, honey. I couldn't leave a child wandering around in a city. How old are you, dear? What's your name?"
"Twelve. Dib."
"Dib…an odd name. Are you from around here?"
Dib considered this. "N-no," he decided. "I'm from out of state. I'm just visiting with my parents."
"I see," the woman said, quickening her pace. "I can see why you'd want to visit. The city is really quite beautiful in the spring. Absolutely lovely." She rounded the corner and they were suddenly in front of an elaborately polished building; white pillars stood at attention, framing sliding glass doors and an obvious crowd within. "Well," the woman said, "here we are."
"Where do I go?" Dib asked nervously, searching the crowd for a familiar police uniform.
"Oh, just find an officer and he'll be able to find your parents." She smiled wholeheartedly at him. "I'm afraid I can't stick around. I hope you find your parents, Deb!"
"Wait!" Dib called after her. "Wh-what year did you say it was?"
She raised an eyebrow again. "It's 2260, dear."
Dib's stomach dropped into his feet. "Oh. Th-thank you."
She smiled and disappeared into the sea of faces. Dib turned towards the glass doors, swallowing the lump in his throat.
This is definitely not home.
"You say you don't remember anything, son?" The policeman furrowed his brow. "Nothing but your name?"
"Yes, sir." Dib shifted uneasily on the metal seat, blinking back tears. He was still numb, but tottered dangerously on the verge of a breakdown. Dreamlike detachment held him in abeyance; he assured himself that he would find his way back home, that he would see his family again. He soundlessly repeated these fables, making sporadic eye contact with the officer. "I…don't remember anything."
"Likely t'do with that bump on your head. We'll send out your name, n' hopefully your parents will be lookin' for ya. You said you lived around here?"
"I…don't know."
The man scowled. "Well, until then, I suppose we can send ya to the orphanage to sleep."
Dib nodded quietly. "Th-thank you, sir."
"Don't mention it, kid."
The officer left, and Dib resumed staring at the polished marble floors. "I'll get out of here," he whispered. "I'll get home."
Dib was furious. He lay sprawled on the white twin bed, watching the shadows undulate on the orphanage ceiling; he had begun to ponder in depth his mistake at the time machine. The warning signs he missed. Zim's nonchalance. It was such an incredibly stupid thing to do and now he was stranded over two hundred years in the future, completely ignorant to the customs of his own planet, and a complete stranger to everyone he encountered.
Dib turned to face the wall, expressing his frustration with a violent tug of the bed sheet. His roommate snored from the other side of the room—head tilted back, mouth wide open—and he considered the incessant noise the single most awful sound he'd had the misfortune to encounter in his young life. He pulled the pillow over his head, cursing himself and Zim a thousand times over.
His only consolation was that the Irken had, apparently, failed in his endeavor to take over his planet—unless his species was considerably more amiable than they presented themselves, and had devoted countless resources to the improvement and cleanliness of Earth. Zim had failed, with or without his intervention.
And that was a disheartening thought in and of itself.
The future turned out just fine without me there, Dib realized. The world didn't need me. It never did.
His fury seeped out onto the twin bed, draining into the folds of the blanket. He was empty without it; left deflated and cold, having burned through it as quickly as paper in a bonfire.
If I try to go back, I might even make things worse. Dib frowned and shut his eyes, praying that it had all been a nightmare, that he would awaken in his own bed, warm and welcome, but knowing this all to be false; he fell asleep despite the horrendous snoring, and the fascinating patterns on the wall. He slept fitfully, and woke with questions lingering on his tongue.
