A/n: So here I am, once again.

I thanked everyone in the A/n of YOLT, but I will do it here, as well: thank you all so much for your thoughts/patience. My friend is doing much, much better, and has calmed down, dramatically. (Thank god.) I thank you all for your understanding as to why I couldn't continue this fic at that time. I don't deserve such awesome readers. :)

As for everyone pointing out that I spell "squeegaly-spooch" wrong…eh…does it really matter? I know that for canon purposes it does, and I thank you guys for pointing out my error, but I really couldn't find a "proper" spelling for it, anywhere. For the sake of continuity, if the word shows up in any other part of the fic, it will be spelled the same way I've been spelling it. So just, I guess, let this little note let you guys know that now I Know that I'm spelling it wrong, but am doing so on Purpose, because I'm a Lazy, Lazy Jennamonster and don't feel like going back and fixing it in the other chapters and hates continuity errors. /rant-type-thing.

Whee.

DISLAIMER: I own….well, not Zim, I can tell you that. Damnit.

One Last Try

PART THREE: Dib.

I'm not crazy, you know. Well, I suppose I am, a little, or else I wouldn't have spent the past however many years chasing after some stupid green kid that showed up in my sixth grade classroom. I mean, really, how dumb is it to think that someone is an alien, just because his skin is a different colour; a colour that doesn't really exist outside of the normal spectrum of Human skin colours…and there was that whole lack of nose and ears, and it was a Skin Condition. I knew that that was the reasoning, why could I never really believe it? Oh, yeah, because I'm—

No, Dib. No. Stop. Breath. It's the drugs. And the therapy. The Rapy. Haha. The Rapist. My sister is now a rapist. This is funny to me because of the way that she was when we were kids, before she got on the drugs that made her think before hitting me. The Rapist. My childhood raped because our mother died and I was left in charge. The Man of the House. The Man. Haha. I wonder where my dad is? The Real man. The man who brought home the bacon while his son fried in the skillet of humanity, the grease upon which social deviation was prepared and why am I thinking like this? What kind of bad beatnik poetry are these thoughts making my drugs into?

Why I am here, again? What was I—

Zim. The trial and Zim. I killed Zim. He was an alien, you know. Green skin. No ears. No nose, although he used to go on and on about the STINK of humanity. How was he able to smell without a nose?

Antenna. Like a bug. A big, green bug. I don't like bugs, you know. They crawl in here at night, trying to force their way into my ears so that they can lay eggs in my brain. Eggs that will explode into thoughts about how I am NOT CRAZY, I'M NOT! WHY AM I IN HERE? WHY CAN'T I GO HOME, I JUST WANT TO—

I just want to eat grubs?

No. That was the Bigfoot baby.

Bigfoot doesn't really exist, you know. I had a Real Paranormal Investigator tell me that. Bigfoot is a lie. A hoax. Like aliens. Wait. No. Aliens are real. Aliens are—

Count Cocofang and Chickenfoot like to use my belt sander.

No, that was Big—

Doesn't exist. Nothing exists. This room is all I've known for so long. These four walls, that little window, that square of light which doesn't exist. The light is imaginary, you know. Like my friend from elementary school. I had a friend, then. Except he really wasn't my friend. We used to fight and scream at each other, and hit each other with muffins and water balloons. He was allergic to water. That wasn't very nice of me, to throw water at him when he was allergic. I should apologize.

He's dead, now.

I didn't mean to hurt him, I didn't really want to, but I had to. The fate of humanity, the fate of the World was at stake. He was going crazy. He was insane. I'm not, though. I'm normal. I'm fine except for these STUPID DRUGS and INJECTIONS that they keep giving me to make me Relax and sleep, but I can't relax knowing that any minute they're going to come in here, to my room with the four walls and imaginary window and turn me over and stab me in the ass with that needle and that cold, cold liquid that shines green in the imaginary light…the colour green doesn't exist, you know. We only see it because that is what the light wants us to see. But the light isn't there, either. It's imaginary. Like my dead friend.

My poor dead friend.

I want my Mommy.

Mommy, he made me do it, Mommy. I'm not bad. I don't mean to be bad. He told me to do it. Told me that if I didn't, he was going to do something Bad to the world. His leaders had changed his programming without him knowing it. His base was dangerous, his pet was insane. Those tall people, those adult people, tall, tall, tall, they told him "You need to do something or die. Kill the world or die. If you can't do it, we will make you, we own you, your personality is ours for reprogramming. We will make you Useful."

And he kept jerking like a puppet, his arms and legs flailing, moving, and he was screaming and it hurt and he told me to do it. That he would hurt me if I didn't, that if I didn't he would hurt me and my sister and the world and I needed to do it, JUST DO IT DIB, JUST DO IT, JUST—

And the blade went in the front and everything went gray, and my stomach hurt and I threw up. I didn't mean to. I couldn't help it. And he looked at me and said, "The back, Dib, you have to do the back, that is where I am, that is where I—"

And the knife went in and out and in and my arms were shaking and I could smell burnt hair and something was hurting me and I screamed and he screamed and there was screaming, screaming, screaming, scream—

They put me in a room and took away my shoelaces and then The Rapist came and she was my sister, the person who stole my childhood, what a perfect job for her, the rapist, the abuser, the queen of 250 mg of behavioral drugs that get stabbed into my ass on a regular basis to keep me relaxed and my mind cloudy, and I just want to go home and look at the stars.

Do you think that the stars are real? That there is anything outside of these walls, these four walls, this prison, this room, this womb, this—

I'm not crazy, you know.

oooOOOooo

A/n: So, if anyone understands that random stream of conciousness, they get mad props. Dib, as you can tell, is on a lot of meds, that are prolly making him worse than he already is. Whoops. Sorry, Dib.

The next chapter will go back to Gaz being completely out of character and Helping her poor institutionalized brother and finding out some of the reasons behind Zim's death. I just wanted to touch a bit on Dib's mental state, here.

R and R, people. Thank you. :)

j