Author's Note I know that it has been far too long since my last update but that will change. My passion for this story has been ignited once more and I will try my best to keep writing. I love writing so much and I know this is going to sound like a plea for attention but it really isnt. If you like this story or see something you think should be corrected then please spend two minutes of your time writing me a review telling me so. You wouldn't believe how much every review means to me. Well, here you go. Chapter two of Damage Control. (P.s. I don't own any of these characters)
Dib slowly dragged himself from unconsciousness. As the numbing darkness receded he began to regret entering the waking world. Unfortunately, the process of waking up is something that can rarely be reversed once started and his body was informing him that it'd had enough rest. The pain was sudden and merciless. He was suddenly aware of every bruise, every cut and every frayed nerve. Even the small twitch of his eyelids caused a wave of agony to course through his veins. It felt as if someone had pumped him full of glass shards and then rolled him down a hill, then let wild dogs gnaw on his face. That's exactly what it felt like.
The looming machines glared down at him, displaying every little detail of his physical being. Each one identical to the other, encased in bland off white plastic, unmarred and clean. One machine made a whirring noise as it booted up and Dib couldn't help but sigh in release. He'd spent more time than he'd like to admit in this room and he'd learned to love that particular device. It administered pain relievers whenever Dib was under serious stress or the pain woke him from his sleep.
Dib's moan was borderline sexual as the pain receded. He looked around him, taking in the details that his pain and caused to go unnoticed. He was in the same sterile, white room he always ended up in after particularly bad fights. Seeing his son come in with broken bones and torn skin on a regular basis had prompted Dr. Membrane to build a medic center in the basement of his house for the sole purpose of treating his son's many wounds. While the room was bland and looked like a regular hospital rooms there were several little things that hinted at the existence of a regular occupant. On the bedside table was a dock for Dib's iPod and several pairs of black pants and t-shirts had been hastily shoved in a small metal cabinet near the foot of the medical cot. In the corner of the room sat a black computer. It's contrast with it's blindingly bright surroundings caused it to continuously draw one's gaze.
The most out of place object in the room was not a personal item of Dib's but a full length mirror in one corner with a white bed sheet draped over it. When his eyes landed on it, Dib felt the same compulsion to tear down the linen barrier and look at his reflection that always tugged at him. Yet, more often than not, Dib could not force himself to look at his reflection. The teenager tended to avoid mirrors as a whole in his life. But had been months since his last self-evaluation and the revolting craving was stronger than usual.
After carefully peeling off various electrodes and delicately removing needles, Dib slowly slid his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for several minutes, indecision coursing through him. At last he sneered and dropped to the floor, able to stand thanks only to the painkillers. He strode to the shrouded mirror ready to face whatever it's crystalline depths held but froze, hand poised to pull down the sheet. Morphine deadened fingers grazed the white fabric as his hand trembled. Did he really want to look? Was it necessary? It wasn't that big of a deal anyway…was it? Anger at his own weakness coursed through him, causing his numbed skin to prickle and with a force of will power the sheet flew off and Dib was left staring at what he could only assume was him.
Pale skin gleamed in the fluorescent lighting as Dib stood clothed only in a pair of battered old jeans. Scars. That was the first thing anyone would notice. The scars. Small ones, big ones, ones caused by knives, others by burns, most accumulated from fights. Some self-inflicted. Even though it had been over half a year since he'd last looked at them, there were few new ones. Over the years, Dib's battles with Zim had become less frequent but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Though the fights were few and far between they had become more ruthless. The plans more intricate, the attacks better planned and the effects more damaging.
Some scars Dib recognized immediately but others were simply ones he couldn't remember acquiring. Many of the less memorable battles had blurred into one endless fight. The symbol of the Irken Invaders had been cut into the bottom of Dib's back, right where spine met waist. That was one of the battles Dib remembered clearly. Shaking his head, the boy dispelled the memory and continued his examination, turning this way and that in the mirror. His father had offered to remove the scars, but Dib knew he could never do that. They were the only proof he had.
No one ever believed the "insane" boy when he told them of what he'd accomplished, what he'd sacrificed and what he'd suffered to save his planet time and time again. He'd been locked into institutions for the mentally unstable more times than he could count…the towns local hospital even had a custom fitted straight jacket on call just for Dib. These scars were the only evidence he had that he'd rescued his planet from near destruction and Dib wouldn't give them up for anything. Part of it was pride in his accomplishments, but that was a very small and fast diminishing part. The joy he'd felt in his victories as a child had begun to dim long ago and Dib rarely felt anything after his fights with Zim anymore. The real reason he could not let go of these scars was fear. He was afraid that without these blatant reminders of battles gone by he'd begin to forget…begin to doubt. So Dib kept these pale stripes of deformed flesh, not as the badges of victory and defeat, but as painful reminders of what he'd been through.
Hours passed and Dib still stood in front of the mirror, the only sound in the room his shallow breathing as he relived the pain and suffering of a thousand battles. The painkillers eventually wore off and Dib rapidly lost strength, both mentally and physically. After what felt like days his legs gave out and his limp body slid down the front of the mirror, smearing it's reflective service.
A blur of time, unconsciousness randomly overtaking the waking world in an endlessly shifting battle. Dreams and reality blurred, interrupted only by sudden piercing pain. The sole occupant of the room lay huddled on the ground, knees clasped to his chest, cheeks stained with tears and only his scars to keep him company on the cold floor.