A/n: So I'm doing two things that are against my original plans for the night: I'm writing an IZ fic (when I really should be working on my Original stuff) and I'm writing a (gasp) Slash fic, which is something that I never really saw myself doing.
I apologize if this has been done, before, but I heard this song this afternoon as I was (don't laugh) playing with Legos this afternoon (hey, sometimes it's good to act like a kid once in a while), and my mind automatically went "I HAVE TO WRITE THIS!" So here you go.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own IZ, nor do I own "The Only Thing" by NiN, which is quoted throughout the fic, and was its inspiration. I do, however, own a glass of wine and a bowl of tomato soup. Yum.
The Only Time by Thejennamonster.
His nose is bleeding, the taste of it running into his mouth, onto his tongue and down his throat, coppery like a penny, yet warm and thick like the tomato soup his mom used to make for him before she died. He coughs and spits out a tooth, wincing more because it's an incisor and will therefore be harder to hide than the ones he's lost before than because of the pain. The pain he can handle. The pain he's used to. Looking like a fool in front of his peers and colleagues, while a normality, he's a bit less prone to shake off, especially considering he has a presentation to show for his boss in the morning that might just cost him a promotion. However, the draw of his anger and the fight is stronger than his voice of reason at the moment.
"You give up, yet, Human?" His adversary sneers, his ruby eyes slitted and glittering with hatred in the moonlight.
Dib laughs without humor as he draws himself up to his full height, his body shaking with the effort and a weakness that he will never let his enemy see. Wiping the blood from his face, and leaving a smeared red streak across his pale cheek in the process, he gives a crooked grin and beckons the other with one crooked finger. "Not nearly, Space Boy."
Zim's grin grows larger and he rises up on metal legs and charges.
"You've been drinking, again." Zim states, looking with distaste at the lanky boy that lies at his feet
"So? Whater you care?" Dib slurs, unable to even open his eyes to glare at the alien standing over him. His tries to turn his head so as to keep his face out of the puddle of his own vomit that lay too close for comfort, but fails and just accepts that he's going to be breathing in the fumes, though it does nothing to settle his angry stomach.
"I don't care, Dib, but you're puking on my doorstep, for some reason instead of your own. That's disgusting. At least take yourself elsewhere to die." Zim replies, his distaste so evident in his voice that Dib can picture the pinched expression on his face.
The boy chuckles and manages to roll himself over onto his back, wincing at the feel of the corner of the cold, concrete stoop jamming into his back, "Move me yourself if you're bothered so much." Eyes still closed, the world still spins. He clutches at the sidewalk below him, desperate to hold everything steady, his nails peeling from their cuticles. He will feel the pain in the morning, but for the moment all he cares about is making this horrible feeling stop.
"Do you honestly think that I want to touch your filthy body and remove you? I should just leave you here to drown in your own stomach acid."
"But then you will have a body that smells of puke on your doorstep. I thought that was what you were trying to prevent?" Dib mutters, closing his eyes tighter against the harshness of his enemy's voice.
There is silence for a moment, and then Dib feels small, yet strong hands gripping him under his arms, lifting the upper part of his body off of the walk. He winces as the back of his jeans begin to slide away from his body, the thin, soft skin of his back scraping against the sandpaper surface of the concrete below him.
He feels his backside bump first against the corner of Zim's front stoop and then again against the metal strip that separates the outside of the doorway from the in. He's dropped roughly, his head bouncing slightly against the linoleum that the living room floor is covered with and he forces his stomach back down in position, swallowing down the sour tasting excess saliva that has rushed into his mouth.
"GIR!" Zim is shouting.
A slight squeaking sound assaults Dib's ears as he senses Gir run into the room.
"Yes, my Master?" The robot asks.
"Gir, there is a mess outside from this filthy human." Dib gasps in pain as Zim's booted foot connects with his side, "Dispose of it!"
"WHEE! IMA GONNA EAT VOMIT!" Gir shouts, giggling insanely. The squeaking sound fades to nothing as the door it shut tightly, the vibrations jostling Dib's angry digestive system even further. He chokes for a moment, gagging at the burning feeling of the vomit making its way up his esophagus before swallowing it down, once again.
Dib can feel Zim's eyes boring a hole in the middle of his forehead, and he weakly opens one eye, peering between long lashes up at his enemy. "Are you going to kill me, now?" He asks, smiling a bit, morbidly, at the thought, "You could, you know. You could easily. Just one little push, one flick of your wrist and snap of my neck and you could beat me. You could win. You could do what I can't bring myself to. Chicken shit."
The last two words are for himself more than his captor. There has been reason for his nightly alcohol binges, the scars on his wrists and around his neck from razors or the strong pull of ropes, the track marks of needles lining the insides of his elbows and knees. He's been wanting to escape, to leave, to fly, but every time he reaches the pinnacle moment, the brink in his existence, something pulls him back to earth; something makes him want to breathe. There is only ever one time that he ever feels alive, and that is in the presence of the creature standing above him. That is the one thing holding him to this place.
If he's going to die, he wants it to be by his enemy's hands; not his own.
Dib feels himself gripped again by those small, strong hands—not around his neck like he wishes, but instead against his side, rolling him over to his stomach. Zim's breath is hot against the side of his neck as he feels his head being pulled upwards by his sweaty, lank hair.
"You make me sick, you weak fool." Zim hisses into his ear, and then releases his grip on the man-boy's hair, allowing his head to bounce again against the tiles of the floor.
Boots storm away, a regular marching beat, and then the room is bathed in darkness.
How long have they been playing this mortal game? How long have they had their hands around each other's throats, both daring the other and praying for the strength to squeeze that much harder. Has it been ten years? Twelve? Twenty? He lost count long ago, long after that night which changed everything for the worst, when his intentions had been to make it all for the better. He's since been married and divorced, his child taken from him along with his house and half of his checking account forcing him to live in a studio apartment in a run down part of the city.
She told him that he had to choose—her or the world. Her or the game. Her or Zim.
He chose the latter every time.
His enemy clutches him tightly, holding him close like a lover, trying to force the razor tip of one metal leg into his throat. He can taste Zim's hot, sour breath in the back of his throat, and he holds himself back from instinctively leaning further into it, breathing it in through his mouth and relishing it as he conquers the smaller creature's mouth. He holds his face away, not wanting, if he is to die this night, to do it in a moment of weakness. He wants to go out in a blaze of glory, in smoke and fireworks; not in a forlorn lover's kiss.
Concentrating with almost every ounce of his strength he forces the alien's body away from his, his teeth clenched so tightly that his jaw begins to ache.
"Why don't you just give up, Dib-Stink?" Zim sneers, hatred dripping from every word in a way that means so much more than it ever did when they were children, "You're life is more worthless now than it ever was when you begged me to take it. Why do you fight so hard? What do you have to live for? What to you have to gain?"
Dib tries not to show how badly his enemy's words affect him, keeping his face in its mask of anger and hate. He will never tell his secret. Never divulge that much information to the small, green human-type thing that stands before him, looming above him on metal stilts.
He smirks, knowing that it will drive the other crazy.
"What? What are you smiling at, you idiot? What is so funny in the face of your eminent doom?" Zim shouts, wildly, just as Dib knew that he would.
"Maybe I'm just all messed up." Dib states, simply, the smirk growing wider, strained, less stable.
For some reason, Zim is strangely unnerved.
Dib leans against the wall for support as he lurches down the metal hallway far underneath the house level of the base. He can hear Zim shouting at the computer in a language the he can't understand, and he smiles to himself at the warmth that it creates in the pit of his stomach. For a minute he just leans there, right outside the doorway, his eyes closed as he listens to his enemy's voice, the familiar tones forming not so familiar words. He breaths in deeply, exhaling in something that is almost a sigh as he thinks that This is what Zim is. This is the person that he's been fighting all this time. This language, those words, that is what makes up the essence of the strange green boy that stood so defiantly in front of his fourth grade classroom. This is the side that he never sees. This is the reality, and yet he feels as if still in a dream.
He's so caught up in his mind's wandering that he doesn't hear the alien as he storms from the room, mumbling something in his native language. They collide into each other, and stare both with wide open eyes, red into honey brown.
Zim is the first to recover as he draws himself to his full height and screams, "YOU! What are you doing down here! GET OUT!"
Dib shakes his head, a warm feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
"Dare you shake your head at ZIM?" the alien shrieks, his fists clenched angrily at his sides.
"What were you yelling about in there?" Dib asks, ignoring the smaller creature's angry shouts.
"Nothing of your concern, now will you LEAVE before I am forced to destroy you?"
Dib shakes his head, again, "If you wanted to kill me you would have earlier. Up there." he jerks his head towards the upper level, "Tell me what you were yelling. Say the words. I want to hear your language."
"What the hell is your problem, human?" Zim asks, his non-existant brows furrowed in distrust and anger.
"I'm drunk," Dib states, matter of factly, "And right now I'm so in love with you." His voice is filled with wonder, taking on a breathy, airy tone that he would never allow while sober as he reaches out and lightly touches the alien's cheek.
Zim blanches, pulling himself away with enough force to send him into the wall behind him. "You're disgusting. Now leave. I want nothing to do with you, tonight." He turns back towards the room he came from, dismissing the matter.
Dib grabs onto his arm, holding him in place, his muddled mind unable to give up on it's irrational train of thought, "I swear. Listening to you—to the real you, in your own language—I just found everything I need."
Zim pulls his arm free with enough force to almost topple Dib on top of him. The taller boy catches himself mid fall, and grabs onto the alien again, frowning, his grip this time tighter.
Zim flinches with pain, and tries again to pull free, "Dib, I am warning you—"
"Don't you understand, Zim? Can't you understand? This is the only time I ever feel alive! With you, near you, fighting you—that is the only thing that is real to me! Out of everything in this world, the sweat in your eyes and the blood in your veins are the only things that listen to me! If I were to die, tonight, you would be the only one to mourn."
Zim glares, yanking his arm free once again, rubbing at his already bruising skin, "I would not mourn your demise, Dib. I would celebrate it. I would spit on your grave. You are…" he struggles to find the right words, frustrated at the English language's simplicity, "you are all…messed up. You are broken. You are insane. You are nothing."
Zim turns again, walking quickly away hoping that this time the human will take the point and leave him to his work.
"Maybe I am all messed up," Dib's voice floats from behind him, tearing into his alien soul in a way he didn't think possible. He somehow finds the strength to keep walking, "Maybe I'm all messed up in you."
Zim pauses for an instant, his hand hovering above the control panel on the wall that will seal the door, separating them. "That's your own problem." He states, unable to meet the other boy's eyes as his palm slams against the glowing panel, sealing the image of Dib's broken countenance away from his eyes, but into his mind.
Zim glares, not allowing himself to show any weakness at the human's words, "You are all messed up, Dib. I've told you this before. Your wife told you this, your sister, your father, your classmates, they all told you this. You are broken, and there is nothing in this world that can fix you, so you might as well just give up."
Dib glares for a moment, and then shrugs, laughing wildly, throwing his hands out at his sides, "You know, maybe you're right!" He spins around, his arms outstretched, looking like an oversized child, "I've lost everything to this game, haven't I? I've spent my entire life chasing you, loving you, wanting to become you. I've been the Savior Of The Earth!" He's shouting, now, tears coursing down his cheeks, his voice still filled with mirth as he struggles against he binds of his own sanity. He stops his spinning, grabbing the sides of his head hard enough to pull his thick black hair from his scalp, closing his eyes, tightly, "You know what I've been thinking for the past ten years, Zim? You know what keeps me awake at night? The thought that Christ never had it like this."
He opens his eyes, staring wildly into Zim's in a look that is completely mad, "The only other Savior this world had ever seen was at least believed in before given up upon. I've been up on that cross from day one, Zim. From the moment I was born I was left to die. Hell," he laughs more, almost unable to keep speaking for all of the emotion clouding his mind. He can literally feel each thin strand of his sanity snap, twanging and striking out at flesh like guitar strings that have been too tightly tuned. It's been too long. Twenty years have might as well have been a hundred for his mind, because it has finally given up the reins in exhaustion.
"Hell, for all I know, I'm dead, already, so go ahead, Zim! Do it! Destroy your enemy! Be redundant! Kill the dead! Do it!" He pauses, catching his breath, staring into the sad and forlorn eyes of his enemy who has just realized how diseased he has become. "Just fucking DO IT!"
Zim takes a breath, closing his eyes and turning his head away. He tries not to think that this is his fault, that he's the one to blame for the collapse of perhaps the greatest mind he knew. He tries not to think that it was finally his words that set off this series of events, that it was his lack of emotion and compassion that has led to this moment. He tenses his faces, clenching his jaw and, screaming, runs full speed towards his long time enemy, the one who could have been a friend, the one who could have been a lover. He lunges, and then…
…And then his mind and body explode with pain.
Zim's eyes open in shock as he reaches out to grip onto the front of Dib's shirt. His blind attack left him open for betrayal, his clouded thoughts masking the unmistakable sound of the switchblade opening the moment before it was plunged deep within his gut. A pained gasp escapes his lips as his legs give out beneath him, and he slips on his own blood like a skater the first time on the ice.
Staring deep within Dib's honey eyes he sees nothing but himself reflected back. His enemy is gone, destroyed, leaving nothing by a demented shell of the man that he used to be. A manic grin cuts the human's pale face as he lowers the alien to the ground gently as a lover, twisting the knife as he does so, the warm blood flowing over his hand.
"The sweat in your eyes and the blood in your veins are listening to me," Dib breathes in Zim's ear as the alien struggles to keep his eyes open, struggles to break free of the iron grip that the pain has him in, "I want to drink it all up and swim in it till I drown. Lay my hands on Heaven and the sun and the moon and the stars."
Zim's struggles are becoming weaker as his body slows, his mind becoming muddled, the sounds growing louder till all he can hear is his own tortured breath and Dib's whispered words, hot against the side of his neck as the human's lips caress green skin which is quickly losing all sensation as darkness clouds over his artificial ruby eyes.
"This is the only time I ever feel alive."
A/n: And again, something comes from an idea that was not where it was originally supposed to go. There are some times when I really don't even want to know what the subconscious reasoning I have for my brain spewing forth from my fingertips the words that it does and this is one of those times.
As always, R and R.