Notes: Sorry for the delay in getting this next chapter done. My semester ended and my brain melted. If you are craving some really excellent ZADR in the meantime, you should check out some of cupidity11's work. They are an excellent writer, especially of exquisite ZADR smut.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text"Is that what your perverted dream was about?" Zim asked slowly, savoring the wide-eyed, shocked stare he got out of Dib. The man opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.
"How the fuck-" He spun around, coat twirling, and walked over to one of the hissing screens, fiddled with the buttons. "I said I'm not going to talk about it."
Zim took a deep breath and tried to stand again. His limbs felt like noodles, but he finally managed to get upright, leaning heavily on the wall. Every inch of him ached, and his skin itched. The mirforn kept the worst at bay, but his body was starting to feel the lack of nutrients provided by his PAK. It was hard to think clearly through the fog that engulfed his mind. His stomach gurgled. His training told him withdrawal would kill him long before starvation could, so there was no point in going hungry. He stared across the room to the doorway that led to his storeroom. There was a cabinet in there filled with bricks and bricks of emergency rations. Zim's fingers dug into his sides in shame as he realized he was too weak to get to the other room. The spasms, combined with hunger and shock, had left him with barely enough energy to lean against the wall. His mind was a thousand pinpricks of pain and confusion.
Weak. So disgustingly weak. Absolutely useless- no wonder the Tallest left you to die you pathetic, mewling shred of garbage.
"Please..." he whispered. He coughed and repeated, more forcefully, "Please..."
Dib continued to puzzle over the buttons and knobs in front of him. Zim couldn't tell if the man hadn't heard him or was ignoring him.
Zim clenched his eyes shut as a stinging sensation hit them. Another side effect of withdrawal. He wrapped one arm across his chest as he felt his spooch clench. A tight, hot tingle was spreading from his chest up into his throat.
You're going to die, and the universe won't know the difference. You've done nothing, conquered no one.
He moaned. The pain in his chest was making breathing difficult. Zim tried to inhale but failed as his throat gripped shut in a tight burst of pain. He tried again, panic rising as he felt the tightness again. His eyes were still shut against the stinging pain, and his antennae were quivering so hard their sensory input was useless. Zim gasped, a strangled, broken sound and slid back down to the floor, wrapping his other arm around his chest. It felt like he was standing at the very edge of a high cliff, teetering between solid ground and chaos.
Dib tried to focus on the dials and levers in front of him, tried to ignore the rush of fear and anxiety that ran through him. He hadn't remembered the dream until Zim brought it up, and now it hung in his mind, vivid and painful. The hate, the fear, the blood.
Since the day he'd escaped, Dib's inbox had been flooded with emails from his father (it was too much to call him anything more accurate). They were pleading, kind, laced with platitudes and promises of explanations. Professor Membrane wrote that Dib had been exposed to a hallucinogenic compound, that he needed treatment to prevent further neurological damage, that he was missed, that Gaz was crying over her runaway brother, that if he had any sense of compassion he'd come home.
It had taken him a day to realize he needed to lose his phone. The morning after his escape he'd been getting off a bus, on his way to a meeting point with a member of the Network. Dib remembered how jittery he felt, how the pain in his hand was still streaking up his arm in nasty, needling jolts. He'd just crossed Orwell Bridge when his phone started buzzing. He'd pulled it out of his pocket and saw an unknown number. In an act of stupidity that now made him grit his teeth, he'd answered. There had been a string of cascading beeps, then the call disconnected.
Dib had stared down at the phone, terror worming its way through the numbness. They'd be coming, his dad's associates. They were tracking him. His head had snapped up and he'd seen a jogger, sipping from a fluorescent nalgene bottle. Dib remembered yanking the bottle out of the jogger's hand then punching the jogger when he'd protested. He'd dumped the water out and slipped his phone in before resealing it. Dib had run back to the bridge, unable to tell if he was hearing approaching helicopters or his own pounding heart, and chucked the bottle off the bridge. He'd watched the bottle bob up and float away for only a second before turning and running.
His dad couldn't track him through his computer; Dib had long ago modified it against any surveillance, Irken or human, but that didn't stop the emails. He knew he should delete the email address, or at least stop checking it, but was the one remaining, albeit painful, tether to his old life. Deleting it would require acknowledging who- no- what he was.
It's fine. Stop thinking about it. It doesn't matter.
Dib sighed and turned away from the display. The partial restoration of power had included a scattering of lights in the base, and Dib realized the subterranean lair was larger than he'd assumed. Though the exit to the outside world was still blocked off with lasers, two other doorways were clear.
"Hey Zim, what are those-" Dib stopped and realized he didn't see Zim. He looked around and saw the alien slumped on the floor, legs drawn up to his chest.
"Shit." Dib pulled the syringe out of his pocket and hurried over to Zim, dropping to his knees at the alien's side. Zim was making a weird sound Dib had never heard before, a series of low, squeaky croaks, like a baby crocodile or a really depressing squeaky toy. Dib put his hand on Zim's shoulder and shook it. He was desperate to get the injection over with before Zim started screaming. Dib hadn't thought seeing Zim in pain could ever concern him, but seeing Zim go through the last two attacks had made Dib feel sick.
He shook Zim's shoulder again, harder. Zim rolled over and looked up at Dib.
"Go away" he rasped. "I don't need mirforn yet."
Long damp tracks spread down Zim's face from his eyes, which were shiny and wet. After his PAK had fallen off, Zim had been slowly getting paler, til he was the color of pistachio ice cream. It had been like he was slowly being erased from existence. Now his face was much darker, with a sickly yellow undertone. Dib withdrew his hand, startled.
"You sure? You, uh, don't look too great, space boy. I'd rather inject you now, before the shrieking and the spasms get going." He absently tapped the syringe on the floor, examining Zim. He was still making that strange croaking, and spasms continued to shake his body at frequent intervals. Zim's antennae, pinned flat to the top of his head, were quivering. Dib had seen Zim look idiotic, pathetic, and ludicrious, but he'd never seem Zim look vulnerable.
"Won't need mirforn for another couple hours," Zim whispered between croaks. "This is what happens without a PAK. Without-" Zim broke off and croaked repeatedly. He took a deep, shaky breath. Dib realized what was going on, but before he could speak Zim continued.
"Without the nutrients provided by our PAKs, Irken bodies weaken, and our minds are destroyed. It takes a PAK-less Irken approximately 48 hours to die, by which point they are shrieking, insane animals, too weak and confused to care for themselves."
Zim spoke in a flat, detached voice, like he was reciting from a textbook, but he was clenching his eyes shut as more liquid seeped from them. Dib leaned back off his knees and sat on the floor cross-legged.
"Christ. That's a good reason to cry."
Zim opened his eyes and looked up at Dib, his forehead furrowed.
"Crying? Irkens don't cry. My mind and body are collapsing, not at all like a human's pathetic tantrum."
"Ah, there he is, the condescending extraterrestrial I'm used to," Dib replied.
Zim growled and forced himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the dizziness it caused. He poked Dib in the chest and hissed, "I. Am not. Crying. My body is reflecting the collapse of my mind. Do not dare compare this to a human experience. This is the most humiliating, the most dishonorable death an Irken can ever have. Everything I am is being stripped away from me, and the fact that you are witnessing it is the most supreme humiliation of all. I can't- You shouldn't-"
Zim broke off as the croaking- the sobbing, Dib realized- overtook him. Zim leaned forward and grabbed Dib's shirt, pulling his face close close to his own.
"Help me. Oh Irk, I don't want to die like this," he sobbed.
Dib shoved Zim away, and the alien collapsed to the floor, croaking pathetically. Dib was floored. He didn't know what to do with this new, broken creature. Barely an hour ago Zim had tried to kill Dib, and now he was asking for help.
"I- fuck, why would I ever help you? You're- you're my enemy," he finished weakly. Zim suddenly sprung at him from the floor, hissing, and backhanded Dib's face.
"HELP? Why would I ever want your help, you disgusting pale little worm?" His antennae stood completely erect, and he straddled Dib's waist, wrapping his hands around the human's neck.
Dib choked as the Irken squeezed harder and harder, trying to shove him off. Zim's manic rage had filled him with strength that would have been impossible moments earlier. A wide, horrifying smile spread across Zim's tear-stained face as he watched Dib's face turn red.
Suddenly he went limp, his arms slipping away from Dib's neck. He collapsed forward onto Dib's chest and sobbed furiously into Dib's shirt. Dib gasped for air before shoving Zim off. The alien slid off him limply and lay on the floor, his croaks mixing with Dib's frantic panting.
"What the fuck is going on?" Dib groaned.
Notes: Seriously, go listen to some baby crocodile sounds. It's adorable and weird, and I'm in love with the idea of Zim making that sound.
