"You have one unheard message."
Dib blinked at the green number in the gloom of his living room. It was almost two am and he was soaking wet. A flash of lightning and the apartment lit up in sharp white. For an instant, it was so quiet he could hear the alarm clock in his bedroom, ticking softly away… Then thunder crashed, rain pounded on his window, and everything came back to him in stunning, stark clarity. Funny how when lightning struck everything felt a little false. Like horror movie set lighting.
Why do I have a landline again?
Twenty year olds don't have landlines, Dib thought, then reached out and pressed a button.
"Message received at one twenty four pm." The automated voice read out a nine digit number, and Dib's blood went a little cold. Dad…
He must've called him right after he left, because he'd known Dib wouldn't have answered. Bold of him to call at all, in fact - Dib's finger hovered over the delete message button before it even began.. He couldn't press down, equally thought he couldn't bear to hear his father's voice, not yet, not after -
His hands were throbbing painfully. Dib let the message play.
His father's voice, in all his strange, false bravado near boomed; "Hello son. I just realized I never congratulated you on receiving your degree four months ago! While I am unsure of the scientific potential behind a Minor in Paranormal Science, I am glad you simply finished! A father couldn't be more proud. I do hope you'll think hard on the proposal offered to you. Oh, and happy birthday, son!" He thought he heard the toot of a kazoo. His father had a lot of strange toys. He collected action figures and dolls of himself, he had an official Professor Membrane puppet, an original prop from a children's science program on Saturday mornings, one he'd been fond of using when Dib was small. The little brown, fabric hands rubbing together as his father stood over him explaining all the dangers of not flossing. Mouth Cancer. Blackened, rotting teeth. Terrible pain. Etcetera. Dib blinked at the answering machine. Waited. Waited.
Wait. Was that it?
After everything, not even some sort of encouragement? You're worth it? I love you? What about I'm sorry I basically neglected you during the most essential part of your brain's development and molded you into the depressed, deadbeat loser you are now?
A deadbeat loser with the chance to start over.
But instantly his blood curdled and he shuddered, a wave of anxiety swelling to form in the middle of his throat.
His living room was silent. Even the rain felt hushed, the thunder nonthreatening. There was a puddle growing around him, water spreading thinly onto the wood. He hadn't taken an umbrella from his dad's house when he'd stormed out; he'd been so distracted, he hadn't even noticed the rain falling until he was halfway home. How long had he just been standing here before the answering machine had sharpened in his vision? He started to shiver. His glasses kept misting.
Dib Membrane lived alone. His sister called occasionally, usually to make sure he hadn't died and wasn't rotting away in his bedroom. He never graduated college; that was either a fabrication on Gaz's part to keep their dad from bothering him, or misinformation- maybe he wasn't listening when Dib threw his last tantrum and told his father never to call back - indeed, never to speak to him again. That had been about five or four months ago now. The lack of apprehension in his father's voice bespoke more of a general sense of aloofness - especially now. Or maybe he was giving him too much credit - he never put much merit in Dib's emotions. He would always "grow out of it". "Come to his senses". "Move on from his petty, strange obsessions with the supernatural to the glory of real science".
'If you are interested in this procedure - it is entirely up to you, son- but'
Dib reached out. Pressed a button on the answering machine.
"Delete message?"
"Message deleted."
Everything, the whole world finally returned to sharp resolution - Dib felt a long panic attack finally release him back into reality.
He turned from the answering machine to face the issue at hand; that he was soaking wet.
He shucked off his jacked, trudged over to the bathroom, started up the shower, ducking under clotheslines gripping polaroids. His bathroom doubled as a red room. One switch made the room yellow, as it did now; the other made it blood red, and gave him a headache. Nonetheless - his collection here was something to be proud of, paranormal science dropout or not. Big feet, Mothman (his favorite), Sirens, zombies - and so much more hung in fairly decent sharpness along the fishing lines that criss-crossed in his bathroom.
He spared no glances into the mirror, but he did pause at the sink to stare down at his hands; the gashes across his palm were deep, although they'd stopped flowing sometime on the way home. Turning his hands over, he found his knuckles were brown with dried blood and flaking, broken skin.
He thought of water gushing from tall vats. The way the glass had shattered under his fist. 'You're making a terrible mistake, Dib-'
It was hardly one in the morning, but after rinsing off, he thought he might just climb into bed. Maybe he'd sleep through tomorrow. Maybe he'd-
In the living room, the phone rang shrilly. He paused, dragging hands over his face. Dib forced himself to ignore it, immediately regretting not blocking the number earlier.
"- party you are trying to reach, DIB MEMBRANE, is not available right no-
"Putrid HUMAN I know you are listening to this inferior Earth device RING, I know you're HOME! Answer ! Answer me! Answer Zim! I command you to pick up the phone! PICK UP THE PHONE!"
Zim's voice in his house was always a little alarming.
"- FINE! Your incessant INTERRUPTIONS would have only caused me a greater HEADACHE! It is of the UTMOST, VITAL importance that you bring your stinking, smelly, and pathetic body to my base AT ONCE. And I will not simply lure you over to merely shoot you with lazers, like last time, although, that was fun- BUT NO! I require you IMMEDIATELY. Ehh," Zim paused. He didn't know how to end messages. "Yes. Arrive quickly. Your almighty overlord, out."
Dib watched hot water turn pink in the sink and counted to ten then listened to the phone ring again. Zim's voice cut in a second time, leaving a second message. Another ten seconds, and in came a third, fourth, fifth. Shrill, breaking, as if he'd never lost the ability for his voice to crack like some twelve year old boy. Did Irkens experience puberty? Dib had discovered their bodies did experience some changes akin to puberty, such as growth spurts and growth stunts, but all that awkward stickiness in between was yet to be remarked upon. And while Zim had changed emotionally…
Dib let that thought run off, into various hallways where all the doors were locked (and not of his own doing, mind you).
After a hot shower (and two more messages from Zim), he dressed again, a clean shirt, the one other jacket he had near identical to the first (but not so long - sometimes he wasn't in the mood for the Matrix-mysterious vibe). He took his backpack, all the usual things he brought when he was with Zim, notepads, translators, weapons (despite their truce - Irken's had unique ways of showing camaraderie), and voice recorders - then a change of clothes, his medication, and a few snacks. Invitations to Zim's base often lasted into several days, what with the lack of windows and Earth clocks. Time slipped away easily.
He needed distraction. Zim was a great distraction. Maybe he could convince Zim to go ghoul hunting with him later. He lacked in the ghoul department as far as evidence was concerned, if only because they were slimy, and Dib avoided messes when he could - he wasn't twelve years old anymore.
The phone rang again. This time Dib rushed over to it, slipping on the puddle. Zim was leaving a furious, eighth message with threats of arriving and scalping him when he ripped the receiver from the hook.
"Jesus Christ, Zim, I'm coming-"
"You have been IGNORING ZIM THIS ENTIRE-"
"Maybe I was busy? Maybe I just got home, did you think of that Zim?"
A brief pause. He could hear Gir giggling somewhere. Zim hissed, "SHHH, you'll ruin EVERYTHING," before he seemed to face the receiver again. "You have kept me waiting long enough, when shall you arrive-"
"I don't know, twenty minutes-"
"Too long!"
"Shut up," Dib hung up.
He was fumbling for his keys when he paused - oh, and happy birthday son! Was it his birthday? A calendar hung from the fridge - it was two months behind. He flipped it to today, marked up the days until he was all caught up.
It was his birthday. And that made his father the first and likely only person who would tell him today. What did that make him now, twenty-two? Did that even count , given what he knew now? What was age to someone - something - like him?
Dib jammed his key into the lock and shook his head. His father's voice, melodramatic, 'Certainly a scientist can always try again, son, but you see- you are the fifth attempt. It's only - disappointing-'
Dib slammed the door behind him.
Zim's house was a bus ride and fifteen minute walk from Dib's place. He hadn't wanted to be so far away. It was certainly far more difficult to keep up with whatever Zim was up to, but given the last few years that wasn't so concerning anymore.
The rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle, and a mist was trying to form in the woods that overlooked the city on the hilltops. Whiteness spilled downward towards the neighborhoods on the outskirts. Great weather for hunting cryptids - Dib could picture shapes in the mist, black and hulking.
He could see Zim's house through the haze Despite everything, little had changed. The ghomes, the puffer fish, the intruding wires and tubes, the bioluminescent like glow which for some reason no one ever pointed out - all of it remained.
Dib trudged up the walkway; the gnomes, though still, seemed almost stiff. He knew their eyes were following him. Years ago, he'd have to get across this lawn as if it were a minefield. Years ago, he might've used a window.
Dib raised his fist to knock -
The door swung open, and Dib looked down. He blinked, feigning disinterest.
"Where'd you pull that thing out of?"
"Wha-" Zim blinked up at him, then looked down at himself. Dib hadn't seen Zim in his uniform in months, and the last time he had, it'd been tattered, blood stained, ruined-
Now, it was without a wrinkle, pressed and pristine. Dib had thought he'd gotten rid of the thing. Zim had since taken to hoodies, fitted clothes covered by long coats, no matter the weather. Tall boots and leggings, sweaters. I heart New York t-shirts and strange steals from thrift shops. Zim also wore skirts and dresses, something that Dib had noted once, before he'd torn the page out.
Oh, and the gloves - the gloves remained, always.
Funny how something he'd seen near constantly for years hadn't been apparently missing until it was back again.
A flash of something that might've been embarrassment crossed over Zim's eyes, then he looked up, scowling. He stuck out his chest, crossed his arms. "I am still an Invader, you know,"
"Of course," Dib said quickly - there was territory looming way ahead that Dib hadn't seen in a while. "It's just-"
"This is my rightful attire for any missions-"
"Mission?" He tilted his head.
"Nevermind! I am dressed this way simply because we are going out tonight-"
"Out?"
"Quit speaking, human!" Zim stepped aside and Dib crossed the threshold. As soon as he did, Zim hissed in disgust. "You are dripping wet!"
"Yeah, it's raining-"
"Zim can tell the weather! Could your fickle brain cells, despite their dwindling numbers, not think to grab an umbrella?" Zim clapped his hands twice and a metal arm came down from the ceiling high above. When Dib looked at the door he'd stepped through, there were two small puddles on the floor. "Gir! Get out of that, that's disgusting!" Already, Gir was doing circles in his dog suit in a puddle- circles on the side of his head, of course. The metallic arm lifted Gir up by his head like tweezers; a second hand began to scrub the floor. "So rude," Zim muttered.
Dib was walking backward onto the couch, which he collapsed into. "Sorry," In recent years, Zim had taken to furnishing his house more appropriately, of course, from Dib's suggestions whether he cared to admit it or not. There were purple pillows on the couch now, a coat rack by the door. Pictures on the walls - Zim liked picking random ones from searches on the internet. Besides that, there were also many pictures of him and Gir, things which resembled 80's-era family portraits, complete with awkward fade ins and stiff poses. And sweaters. Zim just liked sweaters.
"You are a terrible guest,"
"You called me here,"
Zim glared at him, though it lacked much heat. "Yes, I suppose I did. You shall be assisting me in visiting the planet Meekleroth. There are materials I need that my computer cannot supply me with. And you are always whining about space travel, so you might as well make yourself useful and glimpse the backwater alleyways of this galaxy which are not your own solar system,"
"Backwater, huh?"
Zim approached him, slowly, looking him up and down. "You smell like filth, Dib-creature,"
"Thanks, I just showered,"
Zim scowled before he spun on his heel and marched for the elevator - a proper one, as Dib was too long and lanky and just broad enough to no longer fit in the ridiculous toilet that remained in his kitchen. No one said anything that Zim had accommodated him. These things were precarious anyway. Dib hopped off the couch just as the metallic arms unceremoniously dropped Gir. He followed after both of them.
Dib stuffed his hands into his pockets. As the elevator descended, Zim tapped his foot impatiently. His left antennae twitched once.
Dib cleared his throat. "So what, uhh, materials, are you needing from uh- meek...rob-"
"NOT MEEKROB!" Zim hissed. "That is a filthy, traitorous planet, earth-smelly. No, we are going to Meekleroth. Zim has many contacts there - it is a, ahh, how shall I put it?" The elevator doors flew open and Zim marched out. The base pulsed it's usual magenta and dark purples. "It is what you might refer to as a black market planet. I sell Irken weapons there," he grinned, going to a long control panel at one end of the room, gesturing - a screen came down and the planet appeared. It was black and red and slime green. Zim faced Dib. "It's a barren planet. A wasteland indeed, the entire planet's population and it's cities live upon bridges and terribly high scaffolding. It's a common sport for creatures to fight upon spikes which jut out from the planet's surface - loser is tossed into the toxic abyss below. I won a spider monkey in a bet during one, once,"
As he spoke, images of the planets "surface" scrolled by. Indeed, from high above the planet looked like a mass of webs - metal and wooden-appearing scaffolding held the city up in all it's neon lights, and bridges and ropes connected masses of land. There were towering black buildings and tunnels which burrowed and crossed between land masses. Below and sometimes obscuring some of the bridges, green clouds drifted up from the planet's floor. Dib thought of the marianna's trench and shuddered.
"What are we getting?"
"Oh, many things," Zim waved a hand then strode past him,
Dib shrugged. "Could I bring some stuff back, too?"
Zim hummed pleasantly. "Perhaps. I doubt you will find much that your feeble brain could even BEGIN. To comprehend. But," he coughed, and the rest of his words ran into each other, "if there is something theDibwantsZimshallprovide."
Dib smiled but said nothing. Zim busied himself briefly at a control panel and instructed his Computer to put the base under ultra-safe mode, and to watch for intruders. Then, he led Dib to the house's topmost floor.
It had been part of their truce - Zim would allow Dib access to far reaches of the galaxy (under his observation of course - Zim had insisted on this). This final anecdote meant Zim's voot cruiser, especially as Dib had gotten older, would simply not do. They both found it to be far too claustrophobic.
It had taken a week for Zim to build a better, bigger ship, and Dib had helped. Granted, he hadn't been able to do much - but he had learned a lot of Irken in the process, and the complexities of their technology. Loathe he was to admit it, humanity was likely several hundred years behind technologically. Maybe even thousands.
Dib was settled into the copilot's seat (in appearance only - Zim had never let Dib fly or control his ship).
"... I can grab parts for Tak's ship… And I'll bring my camera-"
"No pictures!"
"Oh come on, Zim, I'll leave you out of them,"
Zim threw a glare of his shoulder as he prepared the ship's control panel, "You are allowed five."
"Yeah, whatever." He was digging through his backpack at his feet when a soft shhh soft made him still, and then there was a cold, sharp something poking beneath his chin, urging him to turn his head. To his right, Zim had come so close, he could see the brilliant, kaleidoscope patterns set deep into the Irken's eyes, like an insects. He swallowed.
So suddenly and his heart was in his throat.
"Um-"
"What's the matter with you?" Zim demanded, examining his face. Through his gloves, Zim's thumbnail poked Dib's cheek.
"What- what the hell, Zim-" His face felt suddenly hot. When he tried moving backward, Zim held him in place.
"You do look horrible," Zim's eyes narrowed. "And there are needles in your face again. Have you been ignoring the sleep?"
"Yeah, you've told me already." He jerked his head away. He hadn't slept the night before, likely wouldn't sleep tonight either. He knew there were purple bags beneath his eyes akin to bruises - his father had pointed them out, too.
Zim reached down and took up both of his hands. He turned Dib's hands over, palms up and pointed once to the bandaging on either. "Zim did not do this," he murmured, low, "who's fault is this?"
Dib blinked. It took an uncomfortable amount of time for his mind to process the words.
"Oh - that's- those are nothing-" one of Zim's claws reached and traced an almost delicate line across white bandage. There was a suggestion of pink on the there, where the blood had nearly seeped through. It was likely these needed better first aid - the left might have actually needed stitches - but Dib just shrugged. "An accident… I was- uh- ghoul-... Hunting…"
Zim pressed down - Dib near yelped, yanking his hands away. "Fuck, you asshole that-"
Zim peeled away, back into the pilots seat where he returned to his tablet. "Stupid, stupid human. You never use the almighty Irken prowess which you have at your disposal now against those earthoid creatures-"
"You're at my disposal?" Dib raised a brow, relieved at the new space between them. The point where Zim's nail had dug in blotched with red. Yes, this one certainly needed stitches. That sucked.
Zim's antennae twitched. "That is not-"
"So I can just sic you on stuff now, like a feral dog?" He was grinning.
Zim scowled, glaring at him, "Zim is not your feral earth dog-"
"I WANNA BE FERAL-" Gir's voice jolted them both as he ran from wherever he'd been hiding in the base, and began to clamber over the landing dock toward the voot. "I wanna! I WANNA!"
"No! Gir, you are to stay and watch the base!"
Gir's face fell. "Awww, but I wanna 'nother space monkey,"
"No, Gir, no more space monkey's-"
"But-"
"NO!"
"BUT!" Gir shrieked, then threw himself backward into the dashboard where he rolled, crying and mashing buttons. The voots shield panel flew down, the lights lit up, a confused message appearing across the shield in Irken. Eject Passengers? Zim frantically reached to grab him, but Gir rolled out of grasp as soon as his fingers touched him. Dib slammed a button rejecting the command.
"Just let him come with," Dib grimaced from the noise, now leaning back out of the way as Zim reached over him.
"If you give him what he wants when he acts like this, then he will never learn!" Zim snatched Gir up, holding him beneath his arms. Gir spasmed frantically, then gave up.
"Zim, I think he's been acting like this since you got here."
He shot Dib a narrow look, before he faced Gir, raising his chin. "Give me one reason why I should allow you to join me on this trip,"
"I's brought you this," Gir reached into his head and procured in his tiny fist, a handful of- things. Dib leaned over to peer at it with Zim; a marble, a half chewed stick of gun, a wet ball of lint, a square, Irken memory chip, belonging to God knew what, and in the middle of it all, a chicken tender.
Dib nodded wisely. "Look! He's got a Bloaty's BBQ sauce packet in he-"
"Argh, fine!" Zim dropped Gir who bounced off the pilots chair and clattered onto the floor below, giggling wildly. Grumbling, Zim's fingers danced over the control panel, and the ship hummed to life. Always, Zim's ship made Dib think for some reason of War of the Worlds, the towering spindly ships which rose and up and sang before they decimated half of mankind. Of course, Zim's ship looked nothing like those ships - but it sounded like them.
The loading dock darkened as the houses lights dimmed and the roof split open. It was still raining, and instantly droplets appeared on the glass overhead, rolling down. Dib stared up at the grey-blackness, light pollution bouncing off rain clouds and making them glow as if toxic. The moon was a thin, crescent thing behind a membrane of clouds. Dib sighed. The cruiser would split through that membrane and bring them into the stars, and then out into the strange glow of space. Even a seasoned space traveler such as himself, he felt his heart swell with curiosity and awe. It was a comforting sway in feeling.
"Enough of that face," Zim's voice nearly made him jump. His frown was deep set. "Space does not need your icky sentimentality,"
"How far away is this planet?" Dib scratched his head to distract from the embarrassed blush across his cheeks.
"Ehh some… Two hours."
"Oh," Dib slumped against the seat, sinking melodramatically into the cushion.
"Plenty of time for you stop looking so filthy and sleep,"
He was tired, but… "I wanna watch. And you promised you'd let me fly-"
"Fly my ship while your mind is half mad with insomnia? Absolutely not! No. You shall sleep-"
"Zim-"
"Zim commands it!"
Dib rolled his eyes, sinking deeper. In truth, it wouldn't be hard to sleep…
"What is the problem, pathetic dirt creature?"
"Oh my God, Zim, how many times-"
"You offend Zim with your lack of interest in my superior company. Are there better ways which you would rather spend this anniversary, Dib-thing?"
Dib was half sitting up now, blinking at him. "Anniversary..? Wh..What. Aniversary. Zim."
His brow was furrowed tight but Zim was scowling, refusing to look his way. He grumbled something of the imcompetenctlynof Dib's 'memory port' (whatever that meant), pouring sudden attention back into his tablet.
Dib wondered what work Zim was constantly doing - he was always busy. Dib thought briefly of the time he'd himself spend reading over paranormal notes he knew like the back of his hand if only to curtail silence.
"You have been acting like a drooling idiot all evening,"
Dib sunk back into the chair and drew his feet onto the dashboard. Zim shot him a glare but said nothing.
"Yeah?"
"Like a prepubescent, emotional smeet. It's pathetic,"
"Thanks,"
Zim growled. He tapped furiously away. "Whatever your woes are, I assure you they pale in comparison to the misery of others. Do you know captured Vortians are slaves for life? Imagine,"
Dib hummed and tugged his hoodie up, up until it smothered his hair and hid his eyes. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"Do not cocoon yourself, Dib-stink! I'm asking you questions-"
"You wanted me to sleep, I'm going to sleep-"
Another grumble, then silence. Dib noted the obedience, then squeezed his eyes shut.
A nap, and then space. And black market space, no less! He tried to find the buried child within him. What would twelve year old Dib say to this opportunity? Sixteen year old Dib? His father's voice, '-you would not remember a thing of these, these- paranormal delusions-'
"Dib thing,"
"Hm?"
"Dib-filth-"
"What?"
Dib sat up, glaring, and instantly jerked back. A PAK leg held something out in his face. It swayed, refusing to focus. "It's pitiful you seem to not know. Belated hatching anniversary." Zim's voice sounded like a dismissal; he didn't look Dib's way as the silvery thing glinted in the light of the cruiser's dashboard, tied delicately with a fine, fuschia bow.
Dib blinked. Zim was leaning toward his tablet as if enraptured in whatever was displayed there.
"What is-"
"Take it, human, or are you to deny your hatching gift? That is terribly rude, you know-"
Gir was climbing into Dib's lap now. He smelled faintly like boiled hot dog water tonight.
Dib didn't ask. "Oh! Me too! ME TOO!" Gir pointed to the gift which Dib recognized now as a key chain.
He took it gingerly; the PAK leg disappeared. Zim stole a glance his way, once.
The keychain had two loops for keys on it, a usb-looking device and several acessories dangling together. The first was a blue dyed, cut metal of the Swollen Eyeball symbol, the name MOTHMAN etched in Zim's sharp, edged handwriting. The next was an Irken symbol, not quite the armada's, but with it's bug eyes and stocky antennae. Dib wondered if it were simply supposed to be Zim himself - of course something like this was an acceptable gift from Zim. Dib was surprised now there were no autographed pictures here of him, too.
"I mades that one," Gir pointed again. The final accessory was a… Circular, hairy… Thing… Dib wasn't sure what it was supposed to be. It was baby barf green, the size of maybe half his fist. Four googly eyes stuck to it in random succession, and there was red mark done in what smelled like sharpie between two of the eyes. There were pipe cleaners in there too, making three legs, and then a pink puffball that MIGHT have been a tail... A self portrait?
"Uhh- thank you, Gir, it's, uh-" Gir smiled happily up at him. "I love it."
To his right, Zim cleared his throat, overloud.
"Oh, uh- thanks- it's-"
"There is more Dib-filth. Look," Zim pointed to the USB thing which dangled lowest. Dib held it up. It was square, and looked like a memory chip. It was purple metal, and tiny grooves ran along its side. There was tiny Irken written along the front, but in the middle of it all, Dib could see his own name
"What is it?"
Zim leaned forward, grinning, "It's a memory chip containing your pathetic personality. Or as tolerable of a version of it as I could create. This one, I promise you, shall not self destruct as the last ones did." Zim waved a hand. "I imagine you are sick of Tak's warring personality in the ship you rightfully stole? This shall by pass her own. It is not nearly as annoying as you truly are - I mercifully understood it might kill you if it was. Half-Dib, you might call it. Thank Zim now."
"Zim, that's-" creepy? Weird? Hooow exactly did Zim download his personality? What on earth did tolerable mean? "So fucking cool! Tak's ship is impossible! You know she's always overriding me at last minute?" He'd repaired it completely; he knew it could fly, could handle deep space flight, but its security system would not allow him control. "I've been trying to redownload myself for years, but -..!" But everytime he did, it always self-destructed or malfunctioned or- near drove him crazy.
"Now thanks to Zim all your problems are solved and I no longer half to deal with your insufferable stench in my cruiser."
Dib grinned. "Thanks, Zim,"
Zim paused, then frowned. His left antennae twitched and twitched, giving him away. "Yes, yes, happy hatching day, Dib-filth, now go to sleep."
Gir raised his arms and leapt off Dib's lap. "Yaaay! Happy birthdaaaaay!" He ran off, feet clanking along the metal. Dib reached and carefully placed the key chain in an inside pocket of his backpack. He'd attach his house keys to it, too, and keep Gir's piece attached as long as he could bear the smell - because now he was learning that it did have a smell, and it smelled like decay. He thought of Zim telling him once that Gir handled vermin control in the base, shuddered, then shoved the thought away. Then, he curled up in the chair, the hoodie tugged close over his eyes, and lay his head on the crook of his arms against the arm of the chair.
Tak's ship… His only real ticket to space, alone, and it always backfired. In fact, he hadn't tried flying it in nearly a year; the last attempt had ended in a broken arm and a few burns. 'If you're interested in this procedure - it's entirely up to you-'
He could leave. He didn't need to decide. He could just leave. But what about Zim?
Zim could come with or.. Chase him or… Dib didn't know. That wasn't his decision to make, anyway, and Zim was so stubborn. If he brought it up to the alien, he'd want to make an argument out of it, likely, and Dib was impatient. He knew space well enough by now.
It stung that it was a gift.
Somewhere behind him, Gir was humming, opening one of the storage closets Zim had installed. Dib heard the crash of toys and rubber balls - things stocked primarily for Gir's entertainment, and he listened, dimly, as darkness swelled behind his eyes, to Zim chastise him in a hushed whisper, "You are going to wake the Dib up, Gir, silence NOW!"