The Discount Smeet by Dib07
Summary
It all started when Dib went to an alien market to buy supplies. He didn't realize he'd be coming home with a smeet. Only, the young smeet becomes Dib's whole world, and the human space explorer soon has to defend Zim against all those who want defectives dead.
Warnings
Sci-fi adventure. Light swearing. Peril. AU. Blood and cadaver mentions.
Declaimer
I do not own Invader Zim. However this idea and story is mine.
This gorgeous DAMNRIGHT GORGEOUS story picture I am using is not mine, it has been lovingly made by Alicartin! Please do not use without her permission. Thanks for reading!
Dib07: I'm so sorry in advance. I didn't mean it to be this way. Actually I did. But. Fuck.
Huge credit to you Timmicita! Please check out his artwork on Tumblr! If you are an Invader Zim fan, or just have an eye for great art, I think you'll love it! I've burrowed a few things from his inspiring artwork. It's scary how similar our visions are, because there was one scene in particular where our minds went to. He has done a generous amount of gorgeous smeet artwork all in all! It's such an amazing coincidence because I was wishing for more smeet-oriented art what, a chapter ago?, and low and behold this saviour comes along and showers us in SMEET! Seriously though, this artist makes smeet Zim even more precious than ever considered possible, and that's just the start of Timmicita's art! He does stunning, jaw-dropping art of Zim and Dib, and they've given me lots of inspiration in dynamite amounts! So thanks again to Timmicita who has also done Discount Smeet fanart that I just love. The way he captures the style and shape of the smeet is so very cute. I get all goofy every time I look at them :3 His drawings have sped up this update because they've lit a creative fire under me!
And also a big massive thank you to Alicartin as well for all her support, and fanart that boosts me every time! I'm so glad and happy this little story has attracted so much love and devotion. I wish this story would stay cheery all of the time! Sadly it's written by a goof called Dib07, which isn't always a good thing! But thank you, thank you. Your friendship is priceless, and I wish you well in your story writing too!
So, urm, without further ado, here's the next update!
Chapter Ten: Irken Deep
Dib trailed through his collection of books all of which contained content too mature for a smeet. Not for his hyper intelligence of course. He'd probably be vividly enthralled by anything Dib would read to him, as Zim knew nothing about Earth, except that it rained poison, and the terrain was populated by the one dominant species of the planet: human beings. But there was no rich story content to choose from, nothing fun, and no morals to be inspired by. His house was preponderated by a bachelor's life style and nothing else. He had first edition Mysterious Mysteries of Strange Mystery comics and hardcover books, some of which focused on some very dark subjects, and he had books of unremarkable UFO sightings, witness accounts and the like.
Zim seemed to like his room, or found it strange and brutish maybe. Everything here, in this house, in every room, was simpler. Quieter. And more humble than the entailing particulars of a spaceship. Maybe Zim had a fondness for the smooth, clinical sort, where things were typically more rounded. His eyes, great big pink things really, kept looking at Dib's poor design of a door; the big, inelegant wardrobe with its perpendicular lines, and even the style and shape of the double bed. Maybe everything, in its archaic splendour, was both exciting and intimidating for a creature so used to modernised Irken design that was 3000 years in the making. Dib supposed it was like someone from the 21st century landing up in medieval times, and being bamboozled by how outdated and antiquated the world was.
You could make a story up, you know. Most parents do.
No. I can't just make up stories. I'm no good at that. Besides, I might blunder through a story and make it seem passable to a five year old, but to a hyper smart alien, I would only embarrass myself. Besides, what would I talk about?
No one read me stories. I read them to myself. Dad never had time for me and my sister.
"I'm sorry kiddo. I can't find any stories. Just go to sleep. Please be tired! You must be tired! I can barely keep my eyes open!"
"Can I play then?" He asked simply.
"Play? With what? I have no toys for you right now!"
Zim raised a dainty little hand and pointed a finger at Dib's collection of computers on his desk opposite the bed. He must have eyed them up seconds after being brought into the room. To Zim, they looked as enticing as a cave of wonders.
"Oh no!" Dib cried at once, signally gesturing out an arm as if he was hailing down a taxi. "They're very expensive and too advanced for you, little guy. No touchie! Just sleep! God, mothers sure go through hell!" He muttered, plastering a sweaty hand to his sweaty forehead. He desperately wanted a bath and a big, hot meal. If he could enjoy both of those things before the cops came... "I am your father now, Zim! Which means you must obey me! Now sleep, for the love of god go to sleep before I have a breakdown!" He firmly pushed down on the smeet's delicate bony shoulders despite the stickiness the skin still retained, and pulled up the blanket and tucked him in, the towel hugging his tiny frame to help keep him warm. Zim's eyes always had that sparkling allure to them, even when the lights were dimmed. If anyone else stumbled in here, they would have thought Dib was hoarding two of the world's biggest amethyst-like rubies.
He rushed out of there as if the room was on fire, hoping a quick retreat would shore up the smeet's desire to sleep, with no more requests for toys and hugs.
Please god just give me two hours! Two hours all to myself! I love him really I do I just need two hours!
He rushed all the way downstairs, skipping the final step, then paused at the bottom of the banister rail, ears perked for the sly, obvious sounds of a naughty smeet leaving the bed. But he could hear nothing else save for the hard, abrasive drumming of the rain outside.
He blew out a hard breath and then waltzed wearily into the kitchen like a zombie. He was pretty sure he could gobble down three cheeseburgers and a whole bucket of fries. But, right now a shower was good; a shower was like a call from heaven. He stank, and he was pretty damn sure a cloud of stinky smog was following his every step.
Trying to be as quiet as a mouse in case any noise was too much of an enticement for a smeet to break his slumber time and investigate, Dib tried extra extra hard to be noiseless, so everything took that little bit longer. He ripped off his clothes, threw them into a dirty pile (hearing but not really registering the clunk of something hard hitting the floor), and quietly turned on the nozzle to the shower, and kept the splashes to an absolute minimum.
How did mothers cope? He could not help but praise them for their diligence.
But how could he berate Zim's advent when he was so precious and an absolute wonder to mankind?
And how could Gaz berate HIM?
Yeah Gaz, I so obviously never know what I'm doing. Guess building a spaceship with my dad was a fluke huh? Guess getting home after passing through deep space was also a big fluke? Bringing home an alien does cross some lines, I know that. But if you were in my position sis, you would have done the exact fucking same. No one walks away from a child or an animal suffering unless they're a psychopath.
Of course he felt guilty for bringing the creature here, to Earth. Of course he knew the ramifications. Why else had he so desperately demanded to Rath to take the damn thing off his hands?
I bought the smeet out of pity.
Then I grew to love him.
Why is that such a bad thing?
He was so torn up inside that he forgot to enjoy the warmth of the shower.
Dripping, steamy from the heat, and woozy with fatigue that fogged up through him just as readily, he turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower cubicle, scrubbing his head and body in a blue towel. Then, covering his lower half with it, he bent to pick up the dirty clothing to carry them to the washing machine that was already busy tossing around a plush toy when he felt that hard something underlining the cotton.
I don't remember stowing away anything solid. It's not my phone, is it?
The acorn-thing he had been given was tucked away in the same duffel bag he had carried Zim home in. So what was it?
His fingers pulled it out.
He did not remember ever seeing it.
It looked like a tack, or a metal coin. Glistening over its strange dark metal was a series of little twinkling psychedelic lights. He brought it to his face, staring at it like a dumbfounded ape.
This was not his!
He turned it over, looking for its make of origin like an idiot. But it was the same on both sides.
He was slow in recognizing its purpose.
It had been implanted on him, without his knowing. Blue had not informed him of it, nor could she, when it was probably designed to evade detection, especially when he had so outmoded a ship compared to the modernisation of Irken tech. He probably looked like he was going planet to planet in a cronky old wagon while everybody else had a race car.
"Rath." He growled in one word, his stupefied eyes hardening into cold rage.
Can't let me go completely, can you? I carry around an Irken. The enemy could learn a thing or two from a baby, can't they? I know you, Rath, more than you'd dare to think.
There is one thing I still don't know: are you my friend? Or are my enemy?
"You can probably hear me, can't you? Either that, or I'm as mad and as paranoid as you so much so that I'm talking to a piece of metal!"
He stared at the thing: this contrived spherical object that was probably just a bit of Irken jewellery for all he knew.
Destroy it.
It's the only way to be sure.
How could an alien to another really ever give their trust?
Or, or maybe Rath's intentions are good? Maybe, in his strange wisdom, he just wants to know if Zim is being looked after? That's he's not in any danger?
Snooping on you, without your knowing, gives that kind of ill-placed justice no credibility, and you know that Dib!
Destroy it!
What difference will it make? He knows I'm here.
But... what if he's here already? What if he followed me home?
Sour aggravation flipped at once to the terror of the paranoid.
No, no, silly Dib! He hates Earth! Called it a dirty spinning ball or something. No. Stop being stupid!
But I need to be ready. In case he ever comes back.
Zim needs to be ready for him too.
He was born to be a soldier. But I can make him be even better than that.
Like to see you try, Dib.
Yeah. Me too.
I don't want to push Zim. But if Rath ever returns, he's got to know how to fight. Maybe not today, but one day soon, once he's got over his cold, and this strange skin melts. Hah. Yeah. Gods. What have I started?
Wait, wait, hang on!
"Don't destroy it." He told himself. "As soon as it's light, you're going to go and threw it down a canyon, as far as your car will take you. That'll buy us some time, if he ever does decide to show up. Destroying it might harass him too much, and cause him to arrive prematurely against his 'plans.'"
He nodded, thinking his decision to be pretty smart. Or so he hoped.
But he gave me a month if I wanted to bring Zim back. Why all this spying?
Rath was going to find him in the end though. Whatever he wanted out of the human, he would surely get it.
Perhaps, deep down, the albino was as nasty as the rest of them.
Maybe, being a defect made Zim special. Why else was Rath so interested in him all of a sudden?
Because he didn't want it anywhere near him, felt dirty touching it in fact, he popped it on the top of the medicine cabinet where there was a lot of dust and cobwebs. He then turned his exhausted mind over to happier things: like new, clean clothing and filling his hungry belly. He pulled on a pair of dark navy pyjamas and a gown from the bathroom dresser, and then put on a pair of blue slippers so that he could happily slop around in them.
Instead of going for the fatty choice of burgers and fries, he only had the energy to make himself some buttered toast and some hot decaffeinated coffee. He sat at the table, slowly melting downwards, eyes half open, brain half open too. He did things on sleepy autopilot.
He expected the doorbell to ring, and then the pounding of fists. But no police sirens graced his closed curtains yet. No blips on the radar. No spaceship of Rath's trying to land on his rooftop. It was all very quiet.
Especially quiet, for the smeet upstairs.
The washing machine started beeping behind him. It had finished its cycle and now needed to be emptied. He slung out the wet bear, threw in his dirty clothes, then tossed the bear carelessly into the tumble dryer and set it for 30 minutes.
Seeing how dishevelled and wet the bear was made him feel kind of miserable, and his sister's cold words kept bombarding him anew as the washing machine had bombarded the bear.
Gaz had always hated his softer heart. She had always tried to protect him from life: and it's numerous disappointments. She was smart enough to see the dark in every dream. The decay behind every flower. She was never seduced by generosity: friendship, trust. Instead she had put a brick wall between herself and the world, and she had wanted Dib to do the same.
Never be duped by something that looked too good to be true and you could never be hurt.
She saw Zim not as a helpless baby but as a very big problem.
She saw Dib's parental love as idiocy.
Deep down, they had both desperately wanted friends: someone to get close to, someone who might listen and understand them. But that friend never came. Instead there were people who pretended to be friends, only to later betray the naivety they bore. Gaz closed herself off pretty quick, as she was swift to learn how the world operated, and that, deep down, nobody cared about anybody. Every day there was always new some tragedy that could have been avoided if somebody out there had cared.
Dib knew how hurtful the world was. He wasn't blind to it. But he also couldn't turn his back on it. Not like his sister. And not like Rath.
Zim was a by-product of this universal carelessness and Dib wasn't going to stand by like everyone else was so quick to do.
"And so," cried the deep voice of a man in the parlour, "next on the program, the weather report, and later, a discussion on whether it's appropriate to lend out DVDs to a friend within the laws and prohibitions of copyright."
Dib jolted, his heart in his throat. Then calming logic slowed the spike of alarm. It was the TV! Just the TV!
Not Rath! No NO!
He hurried down the hallway; his foot treads making soft squidgy noises from his slippers. The room was dark, the TV blaring away to itself. The remote was left on the floor.
He bent down to scoop it up.
"Zim?" He looked around briefly before hitting the light switch.
His skin prickled.
Was it Gaz? Staging a setup? Or was it Rath coming to play a little game with him? That Irken and his smile made him think of that Russian roulette game way too much.
Remote in hand, he peered nervously around the sofa. Something small and green flashed away to hide. As he went round to pursue this super suspicious shadow, the smeet slipped out of the room and went to tackle the stairs whilst holding one of Dib's old hairdryers.
As relieved as Dib was, he was still angry.
"Zim! What did I tell you?" As he stormed out the parlour, Zim was already half way up those stairs, but, whether due to his shout, or due to his own clumsy dexterity, he tumbled backwards. Dib slammed a hand to his mouth, watching helplessly as the smeet bounced off the first step, and would inevitably crash all the way down to the floor. In that helpless, awful moment, the PAK brightened to a hot pink, and these devilish prongs of silver snaked out of the smeet's back. They checked his fall, and, being far more dexterous than the smeet himself, spidered their way down the steps with an evil gracefulness. Zim was carried in the midst of them as if he was being cradled in a web, and just like that they floated him back down to the floor and slipped tidily away faster than Dib could put a foot in a sock. There, Zim stood, still naked and still holding that onto that hairdryer as if his playtime offered up such a poor excuse for toys that he had no other alternative but to use household instruments to entertain himself with.
Dib stood there like a nervous idiot for a moment. Those spidery things were perhaps as long as he was tall. This was twice now he had had the misfortune of seeing them spray out of this baby's back like tarantula legs. They made him shiver, and he felt less inclined to get any closer to Zim, let alone touch or hug him.
Zim looked both scared and guilty as if he had no idea what had just come over him. He was shivery, and his bare skin exposed those untidy blemishes. For every one that healed, another took its place, but they weren't looking slimy at all now, were in fact dry raw rubs instead, as if his skin, or his immunity, was tackling and better tolerating this alien atmosphere and the poisoned humidity of the wet outside.
"W-What's the hairdryer for?" Dib asked, fearing the spider legs to make their unbidden return.
"Fix." Zim squeaked guiltily. "Fix machine."
"What machine?"
"Computer. It was of inferior quality."
"Wait? What did you do to my computer? I told you to leave it alone!"
He pushed Zim to one side using his foot and marched up the stairs. He went immediately to his room. There, the bed's blankets had been tossed to one side, and opposite was a sparking computer console. He would later come to discover that Zim had this strange umbilicus that could emerge from one of his PAK's many oval ports, and, using this alien appendage, he liked to jam it into any electrical appliance he fancied the look of. His computer was the first of many of Zim's victims. It could not sustain the highly developed lingo of the smeet's mechanical tech, and had overheated, causing smoke to pour through its vents from the burnt motherboard inside.
Zim held up the hairdryer as if it was the perfect solution. He had followed his astounded father as fast as he had been able. "Fix." He said again.
Dib had no idea what Zim had been trying to do. Other than to destroy perfectly good equipment.
He snatched the hairdryer out of the smeet's tiny little hand. "No! Stop touching my stuff! It's dangerous, playing with electronics! You're gonna start a fire at this rate! I told you to go to sleep, didn't I? And you disobeyed me!"
At that, the smeet stamped his foot on the floor in open rebellion, and both small antennae went flat against his forehead.
Tiny little claws curled into fists, and tears gathered at the bottom of his twinkly imposing eyes that even now were full of colourful majesty.
Dib's anger softened. "You can't sleep, can you?" He said. "You don't like being on your own. It's okay. I understand. I never liked being alone either." He reached out to caress his chin or cheek, but Zim jerked away from him, those beautiful eyes actually seeming to cloud over.
Jesus this thing has a temper.
They were both cranky from a long flight home, in an environment none of them were used to.
He remembered that Zim had not eaten, was walking around with no clothes on, and was touched with a phlegmy cold. When he did manage to placate him on the cheek, he felt a fever there too.
"Hey," the human began cheerfully, hoping to catch Zim's better mood, "let's go downstairs, rummage up some grub for you, and we'll sit in front of the TV. I think you had a mind to watch it, like those DVDs you enjoyed on Blue Thunder."
Zim made this little grimace, eyes averting his, body stooped in a defensive manner that gave an aggressive suggestion. If he had been any taller, Dib might actually have felt threatened.
There was a soldier inside, confined in the bubble wrap of infancy.
Even as a baby with soft corners and a certain chubbiness to him, Dib imagined he'd grow into a sleek, dangerous beauty - like the rose. And despite the Irken's inherent delicacy, the PAK was designed to overcome what was seen as a natural flaw. And Dib had to be more aware of this PAK device, or risk being hurt by it.
The thorns on a rose carried the same trait. Handle with care.
Maybe Gaz was right.
Maybe he'd really, really fucked up.
The grimace, which would eventually grow into a sneer when Zim was older, softened a little when he sensed his father's hesitation.
But Dib was a world away.
There was no ignoring the implacable brutality these Irkens were born to be. That one eyed Irken, torturing those vortians... the way Rath spoke of the Empire, and how Irkens were immortalised by their servitude to war. But, if he taught Zim to be human too. If he taught him compassion, and principle of it. Then maybe he'd have an Irken far stronger than ever imagined. And together, they could destroy the Empire, and finally stop the machine of war.
Dib's heart suddenly felt heavy.
No. To do that, they'd both be in the path of evil.
Both could die.
Zim would have to go back and face who he was.
He shut his eyes and his heart against, but there was no mistaking the bite of those little claws upon his hand as Zim, sensing his sadness, tried to pull him away from the worried confliction of his thoughts.
Opening his eyes, and finding tears in them, he reached down and gathered the little orphan into his arms.
Keep the tracker, Dib. He told himself. Don't toss it down a canyon or the toilet to offset his coordinates. I think I know what to do now.
Let Rath come.
Keeping the smeet tucked against his chest, he walked down the stairs (after unplugging the computer from the mains of course) and went into the kitchen. He opened up the cupboards with his free hand, trying to see if anything inspired him, some article of food that looked safe enough to give to an alien baby. There was a can of condensed milk. And a can of peaches. Both of which were sealed and sterile.
He opened the condensed milk then poured it into a saucepan to bring it to a boil. Doing everything one-handed slowed him down, but Zim had tuckered down against his pyjama top, sliding towards sleep.
When it came to a boil, he poured it into a cup and placed a straw in it. Fetching a blanket under one arm, he made his way into the lounge and let out a long sigh of relief as soon as he sat down on the old couch.
The grandfather clock struck nine.
Still, no Gaz.
The anticipation of her actions, whatever they may be, continued to worry him. But not so much as what Rath might do to them both.
Zim could smell the milk, and he went to reach for it. "No. It's too hot. Wait for it to cool a little." He told him. The smeet let out a surly snort.
Dib hit a button on the remote, and the News Channel came back on. He switched it over to a network that showed cartoons. As something garishly childish played on the screen, he carefully and lovingly wrapped Zim up in the blanket. He was aware of how close the PAK was to him.
"I'm sorry I shouted at you. I can buy a new computer. Just... don't destroy any more of my things, okay?"
That defiant grunt again.
Dib was so tired. He didn't feel like battling him anymore tonight.
"Here. Try a little of this. See if you like it. But only a little." He offered the cup of milk to the infant. Zim sniffed at the straw, grabbed it with both hands, and drank from it.
You know what's real scary, Dib?
No, no not now.
I just wanna sleep. Please let me sleep.
But the voice of worry wouldn't quit. If there's a spaceship in orbit, cloaked, no one would know about it. Rath has that staff - sceptre thing, right? Who knows what he can do with that. How easily he can stealthily move around within enemy lines.
Rath let me go. He let me leave. He didn't want Zim.
Then why the tracker, hmm?
Just a precaution! Just to know exactly where to find me should I activate that stupid talisman he gave me!
How do YOU know what it really does? Do you trust him?
No. No of course not.
Well then. Anything is possible.
Zim coughed some. Dib looked to him, scared that he was reacting to the milk. Then the smeet did a squeaky burp that sounded more like the squeak of a dog toy. His antennae stretched out a moment - much of their purpose still a mystery to the human - before the smeet let out a big, squeaky yawn. He settled down against Dib's chest and literally fell limp with a sleep that was instantaneous. And just like that, he was as limp as a doll. Dib had to be quick to cradle his head before it dropped from his shoulder.
"Jesus..." He whispered, spooked by how quickly this thing had plunged into an almost comatose-like slumber.
He rearranged himself slightly, making sure there was no chance of Zim plunging from the cradle of his arm.
Only once he was confident that the baby was warm and secure, did he relax too. Yeah, he was going to get a kink in his neck most probably, or in his back. His arm would go down as the first casualty, but it didn't matter. Zim was finally happy, relaxed and sleeping.
The cartoons droned away in the background like something of a fevered delirium. He knew he should – must – stay awake in case someone might arrive at his door, be it alien or human, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. They dropped on him like anvils, and the cartoons slipped and oozed like oil. No, not oil. Blood. It ran, velvety and red, down the white of Rath's arm. His claws were hunched open like an upturned rake, and his eyes were fixed onto Dib's with terrible intention. Dib jerked away, and brought up an arm just as the claws went down a second time. It saved his chest from being severed, but the tendons in his arm were cut like rope.
"No! No you've got to stop this! Please! This isn't you!" His words spluttered out like the blood.
Rath sneered out a long, condescending smile. "Of course it's me! It's always been me!" His voice took on the deeper quadrant of a roar, and he came again, the PAK legs blossoming – unfurling from the PAK's cracks – like emergent plant roots from hell.
He went to run, but, like something sleek and impossibly serpentine, the Irken had slipped round to meet him, claws splayed out, those evil PAK legs cutting off the human's retreat. Those claws raked in his jacket collar, and brought him face to face.
It was not Rath. Had never been Rath.
Those fuchsia eyes containing those stars of mauve and cherry mosaics of wonder glared back at him with a subterranean cold. Beneath those eyes was the ticking of a machine. The cool empathy of an automaton.
"What's wrong? Fa-ther?" Zim cooed in soft mockery. "Think your petty pleas and lies can stop me?"
"Zim! Zim please! Why are you doing this? Stop, STOP!"
He felt those icy claws wind their way around his throat, and he fell into the darkness of those eyes. If he looked deep enough, looked real close beneath the cosmos, he could see a dark opening in the dirt, an opening that led to a tunnel. Down there was the bloody vestiges of a broken mind.
Of limbs twisted.
Rotten things.
Things left to die.
Dib hurtled forwards as if he had been sleeping behind a wall of thorns that needed to be torn down. He forgot entirely about Zim, so deep was his horror that even now, as he blinked at the room, it stained his mind. That tunnel! That dark! He had to get away, had to climb back to the blue of the sky!
The TV was still on, its cartoons pushed aside for commercials. Zim, having been thrown from his father's arms, lay on the floor, terribly winded from the fall. His tiny back was showing, exposing two little oval holes vertically lined up.
A yard or so from him was his PAK. It lay like a melon cut in half, and even now was seesawing up and down from the violence of the fall.
A slow realization was dawning at what he'd just done.