The car ride home is silent save for a soft AM radio filtering through the speakers. He stares out of the window in relief, familiar sights bringing peace to him. A gentle groan of happiness alerts the attention of his father, who looks over.
"Everything all right, son?" The car begins to veer into oncoming traffic, but neither father nor son seem to care.
"Yeah." He watches as his father corrects the car, then presses his hands against the dashboard, enjoying the feeling of free movement.
"You know," turns a corner and hits the curb, "you're lucky."
"Yeah." He shrinks against the seat to close in on himself, a personal way of shutting out the conversation he knows is coming. When five minutes pass and his father says nothing, he looks up. "That's it?"
"You know what I'm going to say." The car stops and his father unlocks the door; not cutting the engine, he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. "Take care of your sister. I'll be home later."
He does not need to be told twice. Stepping out of the car he stumbles, foot catching on the door. Before he is completely righted, his father snaps the passenger door shut and drives away. A frown, a shrug; he's aching for the hug of his trenchcoat and the warmth that doesn't suffocate him. Inside, his sister is on the couch, soft beeps and cheesy music playing from her Game Slave whatever-number-it-is; she doesn't even look up to acknowledge him. Nothing new. Routine.
Dressed to kill (quite literally), he tucks away his supplies and leaves without saying goodbye. Walks silently and tries not to smile when people cross the street to avoid him, because he knows he is the last thing they should be afraid of. Someone driving by yells out their window and he waves cheerily at them before moodily turning up the collar of his coat; a light sigh escapes his throat. He forces his hands into his pockets and watches his feet.
Familiarity is what he holds onto, or, rather, what he is holding onto, while he has nothing else. The green house stares at him silently and the faint whir of lawn gnomes turning to face him makes him sigh again. Sigh, sigh, sigh…the lights are off. School is in session. He has nothing better to do, so he sits down in the gnomefield right where they can't shoot him and smiles.
They give up and so does he. Walks to the school and stares at it thoughtfully, then walks in. He waits patiently, leaning against the wall in the entrance hall, for the bell to ring.
It doesn't take long.
"Stink-beast! What are you doing here?"
He turns around and grins at Zim. "I got out. Nice wig." It's new, something pointier (which makes him laugh) and longer, less like Elvis but not too different.
"Yesss," he drawls, patting it fondly. "Magnificent, isn – WAIT! Ha! Stupid little earth-monkey, was that supposed to be a distraction? I know what you're up to."
"Oh, yeah?" he grabs the alien's (pink – very pink) collar and holds him still. So short. "Maybe…oh, forget it." He turns on his heel and hits the floor because the alien trips him. Eruption of laughter, a few whispered remarks, and moments later the alien is the only other one in the hall. He kneels down and digs hard fingers into his shoulder.
"Forget it? Maybe you should." Suspension of breath and time and he thinks of the warm jacket and cold room, laughter fogging his glasses. He shudders.
"Fuck you, Zim."
And he is alone.
