A/N: Warnings for vomit and... idk how to warn for this, short stuffing scene I guess? Zim eats too much sugar bc of cravings. Neither are described too much.

Fourteen days after first finding out, Zim started to feel a bit queasy.

"Ugh… what are you eating?" He could hear Gir crunching on something while his back was turned.

"Nooothing."

"It must be something!" Zim turned up from fiddling with a video game to look at the robot. He was laid out almost flat on the couch, a hand buried a bag of popcorn. "Gir, you're eating popcorn."

"Oh, yeah, I am. Want some?" Gir stuffed a handful in his mouth, butter dripping down his chin.

Zim swore his spooch actually bubbled at that. "No, Gir."

"Aw, you look like you need some buttery goodness." Gir tossed a handful at Zim, who pulled out a laser from his Pak on instinct to turn them all to ash before they hit him. "Geez, just sayin'…"

"You've had popcorn before and it never bothered me, though…" Zim started to pace, heat starting to drip from his chest and congealing in the lower torso like a ball of hot lead. He set a hand on top of it, but he couldn't feel anything different from the outside besides the small curve.

"Maybe you don't like movies. Awful." Gir shook his head sympathetically.

"No, that's not it."

"Nausea was one of the symptoms," The computer said. "It's probably-"

"I've got it, this is from the smeet! They're probably wiggling around and getting all tangled up in there," Zim declared.

"I don't think it's big enough to do that yet."

"It's got Dib's tallness genes, if it isn't now it will be soon eno- oh, irk." Zim's eyes went wide and the hand against his abdomen tightened against his shirt. "Someone get me the bucket!"

"Okie dokie!" Gir slid off the couch, hurrying over to the kitchen, and Zim's free hand cupped over his mouth. Gir barely made it back in time for Zim to collapse to his knees and lose the pancakes he'd had for breakfast. It came out thick and hurt his throat. Zim hacked into the bucket for a good ten seconds after most of it had evacuated his innards, and the smell would have made him throw up again if he'd had anything left inside of him. There were chunks that kind of looked like they could have been part of his spooch.

"Computer…"

"Yes?"

"Get rid of the bucket."

"Yeah, okay."

Zim slumped forward against the couch, forehead pressing against the cushions. It felt cool.

That was how Dib found him, an indeterminate amount of time later. It was long enough for Gir to flounce out of the house at some point and leave Zim alone. Dib dumped his backpack on the couch next to the pile of alien.

"How long have you been slumped over like that? Isn't that uncomfortable? Well, maybe your spine is different from mine, but-"

"It made me sick." Zim hadn't lifted his head, or even turned to look at Dib.

"Oh, okay, so morning sickness is still going to be a thing. Sorry about that."

"It's not morning, though."

"I don't know why they call it that either, to be honest, but it's just that throwing up becomes common for the first third or so."

"It was awful and I hated it." Zim turned now.

"Can I get you something, maybe? I don't know if you have medicine anywhere, but-"

"It made me sick." Zim repeated. "It controlled my body."

"It doesn't do anything on purpose, it can't think yet." Dib rubbed the top of Zim's back, stopping short of touching the Pak. Zim relaxed a little, but not much.

"It's going to do that again, isn't it?"

"Probably." Dib admitted. "At least it won't be for long. Besides, it can't be any worse than the thing with the bacon last year, right?"

"If you bring that incident up again, next time I'll vomit right on your big dookie-filled head."

"Geez, touchy," Dib said. "But really, want me to get you something?"

"Something minty."

"I saw some stale candy canes in the back of the cabinet a week ago."

"Good enough for now." Zim made grabby hands, and Dib crossed the living room in a scant few strides before rummaging around in the cabinet. "Ugh, there's a dead mouse in here."

"Get it out of there!" Zim screeched.

"I will, let me just- ah!" Dib held up a pair of candy canes up like they were trophies before tossing them at Zim. The alien pulled a net out of his Pak to catch them before ripping the wrapper off one. Dib picked up the mouse distastefully, chucking it into the real trash hidden under the sink. Gir might eat it later, if he found it, but ah well.

Zim was sucking on the end of the candy cane, the crook looped around his fingers as a convenient handle.

"So, you just got sick?"

"That's what I said, yes." Zim raised an eye. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you, but that's the first real symptom besides the cravings," Dib said.

"Those weren't cravings, I was merely, eh, hungry after a long day!"

"Computer, can you play back two days ago in the lab, at about 6 pm, please?"

"Sure, whatever."

The screen switched on, and there was a very Zim-ish groan before it panned down. Zim was laying on his side, curled around his stomach.

"Okay, what did we learn about eating three pounds of sugar?"

"To do it slower…" Screen-Zim groaned.

"Do it sl- to not do it at all , Zim!" Screen-Dib was exasperated. "You're just going to make yourself sick!"

"Feels so good, though, stop talking, Dib-thing…"

"Geez, you haven't used that one in a while. Let me see the damage." Dib tried to lift Zim's arm but got his hand slapped away. The pattern repeated twice before Zim relented, allowing Dib access. His skin looked strange in the purple light, especially settled against Zim's green stomach that looked like he'd swallowed… well, three solid pounds of sugar. "Oh, wow, it is tight in there. Computer, take a picture of this please, I want to compare it to later when he's further along."

"Done."

"Whose side are you on?" Zim protested, shaking a fist.

"Just relax, you'll feel better once it starts digesting." Dib rubbed his fingers over it.

"Okay, that's enough," Dib said, turning to Zim who was slumping back on the couch, arms crossed so tightly his fingers dug into his arms. "Look, some weird stuff is going to happen to you, and it's not healthy if you fight it."

"But it was gross and annoying! And I- I really wanted that sugar!"

"The smeet probably needs simple energy to be able to grow." Dib reasoned. "You're its only way of getting what it needs, so you-"

"It's using me!" Zim's claws dug into his arms, eyes wide.

"Zim, we just went over this, it can't think, it's just a lump of meat right now." Dib started rubbing the top of Zim's head. "But it's going to be… unpleasant, for a while. Weeks, possibly even months. You're one of the strongest people I know, you'll handle it."

Zim's color was starting to fade. "This is going to be happening for… months?"

"You're basically growing a new person from scratch," Dib said. "It's going to mess with your body." The way Zim's antennae lay flat against his head combined with his wide eyes made him look more bug-like than ever. "Come on, I know you jump into things, but you knew this was going to happen."

"Cease your gloating and let Zim think." Zim hugged himself a little tighter.

"I'm not gloating. You still look sick." Dib set a hand on Zim's forehead. "You're sweaty, but no fever, at least."

"Months... "

"If it does end up as a four-month timescale, it'll probably only be a few more weeks. Humans tend to get over the really bad stuff by the end of the first third."

"But it's not human!" Zim gripped a pillow, hugging it tightly.

"It's part human. Worrying about it won't help."

"And not worrying about it will lead to something hooooorrrrrrible!" Zim squeezed the pillow until a seam popped.

"Zim, look at me." Dib grabbed one of Zim's hands. "Look at me."

Zim moved his head, seeing Dib staring at him.

"I can't imagine how scary this is. But you're the stubborn ass that has been able to shake off literally everything thrown at you. If you think this little thing is going to take you down, you're not as great as you aways say you are."

Zim stared at him for a moment, before one antenna twitched up. "I am amazing, aren't I? This is just working out the bugs before we get the smeetling."

"Right." Dib grabbed the pillow, and Zim slowly let go of it. "You're going to be fine. Trust me, if seven years of living on Earth haven't killed you yet, especially with about four of them with me actively trying to finish the job, nothing will."

"You're just terrible at it." Zim was grinning again, though, and Dib smiled back.

"Good thing too. I'd much rather have you here than hanging up on somebody's wall right now."

"Ugh, that's what you had planned?"

"Look, I knew up to the autopsy, everything after that was just details," Dib said. "It doesn't matter now."

"I'd deserve a tank and a spotlight!"

"Yeah, yeah." Dib nudged him. "What would you have done with me?"

"Hmm… made you into a zombie slave."

"That's… actually kind of cool," Dib admitted.

"The offer is still on the table if you're interested."

"I'll pass," Dib said, just as Zim yawned. He… wasn't sure he'd ever heard that before. "Tired?"

"No, just resting my… eyes for a minute…" Zim set his head on Dib's lap, eyes sliding closed. He curled up, knees just below his stomach, and Dib smiled.

"Sweet dreams, Zim, and good luck." His nose wrinkled at a sour smell, realizing Zim had gotten a spot of throw-up on his uniform, and wiped it off with a tissue. "You're going to need it."