Another longer one, as I was just having way too much fun with it.

IRON

Dib had been minding his own business.

He'd been perfectly content, for once in a long while.

He'd been playing Gaz's newest video game, which she'd grudgingly allowed him access to. He knew for a fact, of course, that she was secretly delighted by his increasing interest in her hobby, as it meant she'd no longer have to drag random strangers home from the arcade to play against and could instead just virtually wail on her brother. This, of course, led to a much more pleasant relationship between the two of them. Beating Dib up had been one of Gaz's top favorite things to do, but that came second to video games, and now that she could just beat Dib up in a video game, why bother wasting energy to do it in real life?

To make things even better, Dib hadn't even been called 'crazy' by his own father in nearly three weeks! Professor Membrane still found it disappointing that his son was so devoted to the paranormal, but what the teen had offered to the real scientific community so far had been simply amazing! It was certainly progress, and progress of any kind was good! Not to mention Dib's amazing grades – he was maintaining a 6.7 GPA, and that wasn't even supposed to be possible!

But to top it all off, a certain alien Invader had been stuck on his newest plan for world conquest for the past month; a whole month, with Earth safe! Dib hardly even cared that he hadn't managed to expose his nemesis to the world!

Of course, to balance all the more pleasant things that had been happening, something terrible had to happen as well.

Which brings it all full circle.

Dib was minding his own business. He was content. He was playing video games.

And then, his lap was covered in laundry.

Baffled, he stared up to find the source of his current misery. Zim, unsurprisingly. The Irken had a clothes hamper tucked under one arm, and a bundle of something in the other. Dib didn't like to think about what that bundle contained, as it was the true source of his misery. If that bundle hadn't been thrust upon the two unwitting boys, Zim wouldn't be in his house, clothes hamper under one arm, and Dib wouldn't currently have a lapful of laundry.

"You could help out for once, you know," Zim informed him imperiously, eyes narrowed in disdain as he scowled down at him.

Dib rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the video game, only to have a sock shoved in his face; onscreen, the elven-eared hero dressed in forest green took a metal fist to his gut and died pathetically, fairy whizzing around his corpse obnoxiously. A sigh escaped the teen, and he dutifully turned off the game, not even bothering to save. "Fine, whatever," he grumbled, getting to his feet.

Glaring at the clothes as they fell from Dib's lap and onto the floor, Zim scolded, "Pick those up first! What do you think Zim to be, your maid?!" Eyeing the apron the disguised Irken had taken to wearing, one brow raised, Dib was sorely tempted to say yes.

Even if he had said it, Zim wouldn't have noticed, as the something in the bundle took that moment to begin producing a ghastly wail, and the alien grimaced and hurried away. As he leaned to pick up the dropped laundry, mumbling random complaints to himself, Dib heard some shuffling from another room, and was thankful when the shrieking cries ceased. He was not so thankful when the Invader reappeared, muttering something along the lines of, "Must be broken. Why else does it need so many diapers?"

The clothes hamper was plopped onto the couch then, Zim making an annoyed gesture between it and the laundry Dib was holding, apparently suggesting he hurry up. "Is this really necessary?" the teen asked, making a face as he dropped the clothes into the plastic bin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zim responded blandly, subconsciously patting the bundled bringer of torture with his free hand. "But stop dawdling! I'll have to de-wrinkle your stupid clothes again now that you've dropped them all over the floor."

"You're the one who threw them on me!" Dib protested, though it was dutifully waved off.

Unimpressed look on his face, the Irken leaned to pluck a pair of Dib's boxer shorts from between the couch cushions, holding it between thumb and forefinger and examining the garment for a moment before shaking his head and dropping it into the basket. Ignoring the embarrassed glare the teen shot at him, he stated simply, "Foodening in exactly ten minutes. I expect your hands to be disinfected and for plates to be on the table by then!" That said, he adjusted his bundle and marched off to the kitchen.

"It better not be waffles again!" Dib yelled after him, dumping the rest of his clothes into the hamper with little care; he hadn't been allowed to do his own laundry recently anyway, seeing as Zim didn't believe he could properly press and fold a shirt.

After grumpily scrubbing his hands – thoroughly, as Zim had gone so far as to check them for germs the last couple of times – the teen shuffled into the kitchen and grudgingly began to set the table, mentally cursing when he caught the smell of a certain breakfast food that he was really getting tired of. An annoyed growl escaped him when the once-bundled horror, now placed in its own special little chair, began to emit awful bawling sounds again.

Dib had to scramble out of the way when the Irken darted over to it, leaning over it and humming curiously. Then, Zim nodded, turned to regard the teen, and snapped, "The dinner begins early! SIT! The crying larva is hungry!" Not wanting to ignite Zim's ire further, Dib sat.

He groaned when his plate was filled with waffles and some unidentifiable something that the alien had probably concocted on the spot just to torment him, but wisely said nothing, only poking at the mysterious whatever irritably with his fork. Then, after a very hesitant taste, where he discovered that it actually wasn't too bad but he really didn't want to risk taking another bite, he spoke up flatly, "Really, Zim, I think you're taking this way too far."

The Invader looked up at him, eyes narrowed, as he shoved a spoonful of stuff into the mouth of their own personal Hell. "Oh? Really?" he prompted.

"Yes, really!" Dib insisted.

"How so?"

"You're doing my laundry, cooking me dinner, and cleaning my house! And you're wearing an apron, for God's sake!" he exclaimed, motioning at the offending garment in emphasis.

Zim stared at him, not saying anything; Dib had to hold back a scowl when, rather than actually responding, the alien only shoved another spoonful of food into their ultimate torment's mouth.

Finally, when Zim's only actual reply was a sullen 'I like the apron – it's purple', Dib threw his hands up in frustration. "Yes! Your apron is purple! That's exactly what I'm getting at! Oh, wait! No it isn't!" he shrieked, jabbing one of his waffles with his fork angrily. "What I'm getting at is that this is just a stupid project, Zim! It's hardly even worth five percent of our grade! This is insane! You shouldn't even be in my house, let alone doing my laundry!"

The object of torment began to wail again, bringing Zim to yell back at him, "Silence, you smelly fool, you're scaring the baby!"

"IT'S NOT A REAL BABY! NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Ah, the joys of...parenting...?