Chapter dos! Yeah, I'm on a roll here.
By the way, if you can't tell, there's ANGST in this fic. Surprise.
Four years later. (i.e. Dib is now seventeen)
Dib swallowed hard. It was Friday, 2:55 p.m. All of his fellow classmates squirmed in their seats, hoping anxiously that the clock would miraculously speed forward, letting them escape the last five minutes of their hideous chemistry teacher's torture.
'These idiots don't know what torture really is,' thought Dib bitterly. 'They want to go home. To spend time with their friends, having stupid girly sleepovers or playing DND in the basement. My home isn't even a home. It's a house I live in.'
2:56. Couldn't that clock go any slower? Dib squeezed his eyes shut, wishing beyond all hope that it would stop, or that a tornado siren would tell them to stay just a little longer.
He tried every Friday that he knew Gaz would be gone. It never worked. He just ended up breaking the pencils that he clenched in concentration.
'Damn. 2:58.' Dib supposed he could try sleeping at skool again. However, the idea was almost, almost less appealing than being at home. Besides, last time he had gotten a detention. "Failure to leave school grounds at designated time" was the reason. It was one of the most bogus things he'd ever heard someone getting written up for.
Zim had gotten worse ones by far. He smiled, remembering when the human impersonator had tried to flood the school with pudding. His detention slip had read, "Improper use of school supplies." That line basically proved that none of the glop they received was food. Not that Dib had expected otherwise.
The sudden screech of the final bell snapped him out of his reflections. Students rose from their seats, jabbering as they all tried to get out the door at once. The chemistry teacher called out the assignment, trying in vain to raise his voice above the twenty-five hundred students starting their weekend.
Dib was last out the door, hands in his trench coat. Trying to casually meander down the hallway and failing miserably, his stiff legs suddenly didn't carry him forward. The pink-brown tile rushed up toward him. In the attempt to pull his hands out to catch himself, Dib managed to fall on some cheerleader's feet. She squealed and jumped back into her boyfriend's arms.
The huge jock leaned over Dib, eyes calculating every bit of him. Finally, he said, "If I didn't have a game tonight, I'd smack you up again, Spacequeer."
Dib just grimaced and nodded, as per the custom, and turned himself over onto his elbows. Looking up, he saw exactly what he had suspected.
"In trouble and the weekend hasn't even started yet, hmm, DIB?" Zim leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk spreading to every corner of his green face. "Looks like I'm ahead here already."
Dib sighed, not in the mood to worry about both Zim and his father. "Thanks for the trip, it was great." He stood, brushing the dust from his black clothing and turning away.
Less than three steps later, Zim was in his face again, looking slightly peeved. "Pathetic Earth-weasel, I won't fall for any of your foolish tricks. You forget I am much more advanced than you, and don't waste my brain-meats on foolishness."
"Yes, yes," Dib muttered with a roll of his eyes. "Superiority and all that jazz." He glared at Zim. "I'm leaving now." Dib stepped to the side.
Zim was right there yet again. 'Isn't this fucking alien ever going to leave me alone?!'
Zim stared at Dib, violet eyes slit like knives. "Has something been attacking your filthy human mind? Confront Zim! The Dib would never run from a fight."
Getting very tired, Dib decided to just turn around and walk the long way out. As he forged his path down the hall, he heard Zim shout, "I'll find out what you're up to, Dib! Make no mistake, you shall not leave Zim in defeat!"
'I have a much worse battle to fight,' thought Dib wearily. 'I'll leave you however I want.'
Deciding to gather everything he might need right away, Dib rushed up the carpeted stairs to his room. Only the basics found their way into his navy blue messenger bag. That stupid encounter with Zim had cost him an extra half hour; the time bomb now counted fifty-six minutes to detonation.
Gaz was spending the weekend at a gamer's convention several hours away. Her friends made special outings like this at least three times a year. Just as routinely, it seemed, his father managed to unexpectedly stop home at some time during those weekends. Dib now correlated the words 'weekend' and 'pain.'
'I wish I could say something to her,' Dib thought through the panicky static foaming over his mind. 'But she can't know. It wouldn't be good. Then she'd get hurt, too, and I'd get hurt more. That can't happen. I'll never let Dad hurt her.'
Dib had made a solemn vow years ago to protect Gaz from their father, no matter the cost. Luckily, the professor seemed to only occasionally acknowledge her presence, and she had no strange bruises or cuts.
Grabbing his journal from the cluttered desk, Dib shoved it in the bag over his shoulder as he descended. The light in the kitchen was off, and early shadows cast themselves over the linoleum. He checked his pockets as he entered, checking for his binoculars and the emergency cash (a $5 bill). A slip of paper was folded in with the money, something scribbled over it.
Dib reached out to flip the light on, trying to determine the paper's value. Before his hand even touched the switch, a gloved hand snapped out of nowhere, pinning his wrist to the wall.
By the way, if you can't tell, there's ANGST in this fic. Surprise.
Four years later. (i.e. Dib is now seventeen)
Dib swallowed hard. It was Friday, 2:55 p.m. All of his fellow classmates squirmed in their seats, hoping anxiously that the clock would miraculously speed forward, letting them escape the last five minutes of their hideous chemistry teacher's torture.
'These idiots don't know what torture really is,' thought Dib bitterly. 'They want to go home. To spend time with their friends, having stupid girly sleepovers or playing DND in the basement. My home isn't even a home. It's a house I live in.'
2:56. Couldn't that clock go any slower? Dib squeezed his eyes shut, wishing beyond all hope that it would stop, or that a tornado siren would tell them to stay just a little longer.
He tried every Friday that he knew Gaz would be gone. It never worked. He just ended up breaking the pencils that he clenched in concentration.
'Damn. 2:58.' Dib supposed he could try sleeping at skool again. However, the idea was almost, almost less appealing than being at home. Besides, last time he had gotten a detention. "Failure to leave school grounds at designated time" was the reason. It was one of the most bogus things he'd ever heard someone getting written up for.
Zim had gotten worse ones by far. He smiled, remembering when the human impersonator had tried to flood the school with pudding. His detention slip had read, "Improper use of school supplies." That line basically proved that none of the glop they received was food. Not that Dib had expected otherwise.
The sudden screech of the final bell snapped him out of his reflections. Students rose from their seats, jabbering as they all tried to get out the door at once. The chemistry teacher called out the assignment, trying in vain to raise his voice above the twenty-five hundred students starting their weekend.
Dib was last out the door, hands in his trench coat. Trying to casually meander down the hallway and failing miserably, his stiff legs suddenly didn't carry him forward. The pink-brown tile rushed up toward him. In the attempt to pull his hands out to catch himself, Dib managed to fall on some cheerleader's feet. She squealed and jumped back into her boyfriend's arms.
The huge jock leaned over Dib, eyes calculating every bit of him. Finally, he said, "If I didn't have a game tonight, I'd smack you up again, Spacequeer."
Dib just grimaced and nodded, as per the custom, and turned himself over onto his elbows. Looking up, he saw exactly what he had suspected.
"In trouble and the weekend hasn't even started yet, hmm, DIB?" Zim leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk spreading to every corner of his green face. "Looks like I'm ahead here already."
Dib sighed, not in the mood to worry about both Zim and his father. "Thanks for the trip, it was great." He stood, brushing the dust from his black clothing and turning away.
Less than three steps later, Zim was in his face again, looking slightly peeved. "Pathetic Earth-weasel, I won't fall for any of your foolish tricks. You forget I am much more advanced than you, and don't waste my brain-meats on foolishness."
"Yes, yes," Dib muttered with a roll of his eyes. "Superiority and all that jazz." He glared at Zim. "I'm leaving now." Dib stepped to the side.
Zim was right there yet again. 'Isn't this fucking alien ever going to leave me alone?!'
Zim stared at Dib, violet eyes slit like knives. "Has something been attacking your filthy human mind? Confront Zim! The Dib would never run from a fight."
Getting very tired, Dib decided to just turn around and walk the long way out. As he forged his path down the hall, he heard Zim shout, "I'll find out what you're up to, Dib! Make no mistake, you shall not leave Zim in defeat!"
'I have a much worse battle to fight,' thought Dib wearily. 'I'll leave you however I want.'
Deciding to gather everything he might need right away, Dib rushed up the carpeted stairs to his room. Only the basics found their way into his navy blue messenger bag. That stupid encounter with Zim had cost him an extra half hour; the time bomb now counted fifty-six minutes to detonation.
Gaz was spending the weekend at a gamer's convention several hours away. Her friends made special outings like this at least three times a year. Just as routinely, it seemed, his father managed to unexpectedly stop home at some time during those weekends. Dib now correlated the words 'weekend' and 'pain.'
'I wish I could say something to her,' Dib thought through the panicky static foaming over his mind. 'But she can't know. It wouldn't be good. Then she'd get hurt, too, and I'd get hurt more. That can't happen. I'll never let Dad hurt her.'
Dib had made a solemn vow years ago to protect Gaz from their father, no matter the cost. Luckily, the professor seemed to only occasionally acknowledge her presence, and she had no strange bruises or cuts.
Grabbing his journal from the cluttered desk, Dib shoved it in the bag over his shoulder as he descended. The light in the kitchen was off, and early shadows cast themselves over the linoleum. He checked his pockets as he entered, checking for his binoculars and the emergency cash (a $5 bill). A slip of paper was folded in with the money, something scribbled over it.
Dib reached out to flip the light on, trying to determine the paper's value. Before his hand even touched the switch, a gloved hand snapped out of nowhere, pinning his wrist to the wall.