This took longer to write than I ever thought that it would. I was busy on vacation (without internet 80% of the time) and other work for most of the break between these two chapters. I finished writing most of it today aha. Enjoy!

Part 24: Resilient

Dib waited patiently while the nurses did their last cursory check of his vitals and got him prepped to leave. He'd declined the wheelchair—he could walk, he had more control of his body than that—and opted for the crutch instead. Zim had given the device a displeased and grimaced look when they'd brought it in. Dib had no doubt that Zim thought of it was an archaic form of getting around on a broken limb based on what Zim had told him of Irken body enhancements.

"Do you need anything else, dear?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. My friend will take me home."

The nurse nodded and bounced out of the room. Zim watched her go and blinked in confusion. "She's so… spritely for a nurse… compared to the others."

"She's an optimist. Anyway, I'm ready to go home. I'm exhausted and I want something other than the pudding here." Dib says, scooting himself off the edge of the bed.

He was still in his hospital gown, his clothes sitting on the table next to the bed. Zim had brought them over the very next day after his first visit; despite the doctors having made it clear Dib wasn't leaving for another two nights. Gaz had come by with his laptop that same day and to Dib's surprise had stayed for a few hours. He was sure she was concerned, masking it in her snide remarks about the man who had hit them, not leaving until after the doctor had given Dib an update on his condition. Zim had come each day and stayed the entire time. He had practically lived there during visiting hours. Dib had to plead for him not to sneak back in through the window past the visitation hours or they'd both be in trouble. Zim hadn't complained about that. Much. His contacts had started to irritate him after the visitation hours ended; and he'd been grateful to get home and been able to remove his disguise.

Dib tossed the gown into the chair Zim had been sitting in. The Irken had stood up and moved over to Dib's clothes, handing him his shirt first. Dib grimaced at the thought of raising his broken arm and motioned for the jacket instead. Zim paused for a moment before switching the garments out. Dib draped it over his shoulders, clasping it at the nape with the button he rarely used. A pair of shorts came next and then his shoes. Zim stuffed the shirt into his PAK. He looked Dib over and smirked.

"You look silly with just the jacket," he says with a chuckle. Dib sticks his tongue out at him.

"I don't really care. I just real food and a warm bed."

"Well, Zim will take Dib-stink home. Zim will even ride in… a taxi." Zim said, the name of the vehicle coming out in a disgusted hiss. Dib snorted at his obvious disdain for the transportation.

"What? Too germy for a mighty Irken invader?" Dib teased. Zim grumbled, fighting down a shudder.

"Humans leave no place clean. EUGH they smell of gum and snot and beer. And Zim does not want to know what other activities have taken place in the back of those… things."

"Oh stop. You can keep my shirt over your mouth if you're that paranoid about it. You'll look weird… er, but it might help. It helps most people." Dib explains, hobbling to the door and already down the hall by the time Zim had caught up to him. Even with his mobility hindered so greatly Dib surprised Zim by his speed. He either really did want a good meal and out of the hospital, or he was taking this as a challenge to see if he could keep pace with his usual long-gated walk. Zim wouldn't be surprised with either motivation.

Once they'd gotten out to the lot and Dib flagged down a taxi Zim was already wrapping the shirt around his face. It did good to ventilate the air for him; as well as keep his embarrassed flushed face hidden from any prying eyes. Dib piled into the taxi, with some difficulty due to his stuck out and cast leg, and Zim followed close behind.

"I'll pay," Dib offered. Zim nodded, turning towards the driver.

"16 West Parker St. In the suburbs to the North. It's a cul-de-sac."

Dib blinked at him in surprise. "Your house?"

"Zim wants you to come over. I'm not satisfied with the hospital's assessment and want to make one myself." Zim explains coolly. Dib eyes the alien suspiciously. He shut the window between them and the driver, not intent on having this conversation overheard by the stranger while they were driven to Zim's base.

"Zim, you're not gonna hook me up to one of your weird machines, are you?" he asks. Zim looks at him with an expression that was both shocked and offended.

"Zim is offended Dib-stink would jump to that conclusion. Zim doesn't need a machine to perform an assessment."

Dib looked out the window, watching the neighborhood race by. He trusted Zim. He didn't know if he trusted Zim's knowledge on human biology. The drive was primarily Dib looking out the window trying to keep conscious until they had arrived at Zim's base. Dib focused on trying to get into the base without help. It was easier than he'd thought to go up the step with a crutch. He was grateful Zim had installed the elevator instead of a staircase. When they reached the operating room Zim sat him down at an operating table, kicking a chair into place. Dib rested his injured arm on the cool metal. Zim started to rummage through his drawers. He was laying random tools out onto the desk, shoving some to the side and placing others onto the operation table. Dib squirmed in his seat, looking over the sharp objects. Zim placed a large needle on the operating table, shaking a vial of liquid before filling the needle with it.

"Arm."

Dib held it out, somewhat reluctantly. Zim looked intently at his arm before slowly injecting the liquid into Dib's vein at his elbow. The liquid was cool, flowing into his body with little resistance past the prick of the needle. He was still mulling over the fact that it was painless when his arm went completely numb. He was marveling over the fact, perhaps ignoring that he should be concerned about it, as Zim started in on his cast with a bandsaw. Dib had to turn away, the flakes of the cast flying up into his face and onto the table. Zim haphazardly tossed the cast to the floor. He was more focused on the inspection in front of him.

"You couldn't have done an x-ray?" Dib asked. Zim raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not good enough."

Dib blanched, laughing as Zim started to do something to his arm. He wasn't looking down, focused on trying to see if Zim's blank expression was because he was focused or if he was playing a joke. "Why isn't that good enough?"

"Zim would rather look at the arm himself. Monitors are walls to Zim's superior eyesight and analysis," Zim explained, laying a tool to the side.

Dib gave him a very sarcastic 'uh huh'. He glanced at the tool and saw blood. Dib froze up, his eye trailing over to his arm. Zim was looking inside an incision he'd made up Dib's arm, looking at the bone using tools Dib would equate to what one would to dissect small animals. He moved less than a centimeter to get his arm away from the tools and Zim held his arm down with one hand. Dib pulled, moving nowhere regardless how hard he tugged at his arm. He felt an odd sense of frustration and fear starting to boil up inside of him. Zim's strength had been demonstrated to him before, but not so forcibly against him.

"Zim."

"Zim is focusing."

"Zim is scaring me."

Dib watched Zim smirk and chuckle. He took his tools from Dib's arm; but didn't release it. He grabbed a syringe and shot a strange gelatinous substance into his arm. He switched it out for a handheld device that he ran along Dib's arm, closing the incision enough that all Zim had to do was wrap it with some gauze. Zim did just that, holding Dib's arm up instead of against the table, the force with which he was resisting Dib's tugging not changing by even a minute amount. When he was done he finally released Dib, who immediately inspected his own arm. No pain or discomfort.

"What was all that?" he asked, squeezing his arm at the gauze, and still feeling nothing past a heavy soreness in his bone. Zim had begun cleaning his tools, refilling the needle and syringe, and realigning them to his left.

"Irken medical science. Far advanced to human medicine. Zim would like to do the same to Dib's leg. Those doctors only put a glorified bandage over your bones. That would have taken months to heal. Zim is disgusted." Zim said, tapping on the table for Dib to sit on it. Dib obliged, hauling himself up with his newfound dual arm strength. He lifted his injured leg gingerly onto the table and laid down as Zim did his work.

"Have you had to do this to yourself before? Without the PAK taking over?" Dib asked, the imagery flashing through his memory for a moment. He looked to the light, drowning it out with the bright light.

"Zim has. Though, rarely because of anything you did."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Dib asked jokingly.

"A fact," Zim said flatly.

Dib furrowed his brow. He hadn't thought Zim would have completely lost the art of banter when he was focused so heavily on something. Or perhaps it was just what he was focusing on that was taking all his attention. He must have dozed off because Zim was shaking his shoulder next and snapping his fingers. Dib first focused on his antennae, slanted in a worried position, then on Zim's own face. He sat up, patting on Zim's shoulder.

"I'm fine, just tired." He said, rubbing at his eyes. He looked around to see that Zim had already cleaned up the room. He helped Dib off the table, guiding him out of the room. "Where we going now? What time is it?"

"It isn't late. Zim had prepared for nights you'd stay up late and would not go home," Zim began, taking Dib into the elevator, stopping just below the ground floor of the base.

The doors slid open and Dib was greeted by a room that looked like it was based off his own room except for the bunk bed built into the wall. The wall hadn't been hollowed out to fit a frame, but instead had been hollowed in to separate spots one atop the other as the bed space. Zim had already put in blankets, pillows, and sheets. Scattered around the room were video games, movies, board games, books, and figurines that Dib could mess with if he hadn't wanted to sleep just yet. As much as he wanted to check the collection of games or movies, he was far more interested in the bed.

Dib sighed in relief and gratitude, stumbling over to the bunk bed and stealing the top bunk, tall enough to hop inside without use of the ladder steps built over one end of the bottom bunk. Zim watched him snuggle into the pillow with a content sigh. He heard Zim slip into the bunk below him, likely laying on his stomach. A few moments passed before he heard Zim tacking away at a screen.

"Zim?"

"Hm?"

"How resilient are Irkens?" Dib asked sleepily.

Zim paused for a brief moment before continuing whatever work he was doing. "Explain."

"Like. How much damage can you take before you get seriously injured from a brawl? Would the car crash have taken you down like it did me?"

"Ah. Not necessarily. Irkens have modified out bodies, as Zim believes he's mentioned before. Zim recalls a few times even on his short stay here on Earth a loss of an eye from the socket. They typically pop back into place, however-"

"You've lost an EYE from the SOCKET?!" Dib asked in disgust. Zim seemed completely unperturbed by the fact.

"Yes." He said matter-of-factly. "Death is also a subject we don't focus too heavily upon."

Dib felt a sense of unease that that fact. "Why's that?"

Zim looked up from the tablet-like device he'd procured from his PAK. He set it aside to focus on the conversation more. "Zim does suppose he'd never told Dib-stink of this. Gir had actually forced Zim's PAK to reset Zim with a power amplifier that he'd hooked into his stupid AI system. That is why Zim awoke after that incessant human's assault."

"Wait… you actually died?" Dib asked, leaning hastily over the edge of the bed. Zim looked up at him, his antennae twitching in confusion.

"In a sense of the term. Can Zim assume that is not the case for humans?"

"No! More often than not we just die!" Dib exclaimed.

"Ah." Zim said. He set his hand over his mouth, pondering the information. "So… if Dib-stink were to be injured enough… Dib-stink would die? Permanently?"

"Assuming they can't revive me, yes, I would die. Permanently. Irkens don't have to worry about that?"

"No. Irkens die from PAK removal, dismemberment—occasionally, or of old age. Those are, as far as Zim knows, the three primary ways." Zim explains. Dib sighed heavily, burying his head in his pillow.

"Well," he says, rolling over, "At least I don't have to worry about you leaving me before I die."

Zim listened to his breathing, following Dib's pattern as he fell asleep on the bed, far less confident in the new information.