Author's Note: Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter. Well, here it is!

Disclaimer: Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon Studios own all the stuff related to "Invader Zim".

Chapter 3: Aftermath

Zim and I arrived at my house in silence, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, when we set Dib's body down inside, Zim spoke up.

"So, uh, you…want me to stay with you or something?"

I shook my head.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine."

"Be fine?" Zim echoed, "I know how you humans are when you lose one of your kind that you care about. I…don't think I'm fine, actually."

"You?" I turned to him, "but you always wanted him dead, didn't you?"

"I did," he answered, staring down at the lifeless Dib, "but he wasn't…just an enemy."

"What was he then?" I asked intently.

"Well," the alien looked up at me, "the Tallest, my leaders, never really understood me. And the Dib-human…he saw me as…more than they did."

Zim smiled. I gave him an understanding look.

"I was…much bigger in his eyes," he said.

I had heard of the "Tallest" before and that on Zim's planet, height was everything. But I don't think that's

what Zim was talking about.

I didn't really want to do anything the rest of the day. I sat around, tried to watch T.V., knowing I'd have to call Dad sooner or later, but not thinking I'd be able to bear it.

I looked back at my still brother lying on the living room floor. I watched him a couple of times, thinking and hoping he might wake up, turn over and look at me, but it didn't happen.

"Dib," I told him, "you didn't have to…"

Why had he? I didn't understand. I had been such a jerk to him; I had even been treating him worse than usual lately. But he still was attached to me in some way, never gave up on me. And now this…

I swallowed hard and got up from the couch. For a moment I just stood and breathed deeply, my eyes shut tightly. I was ready to call Dad. I shuffled past Dib on the floor and off to the phone. A sliver of the afternoon sun lit the receiver slightly as I shakily picked it up and dialed Dad's lab's number. The dial tone made me anxious, and I tried to take my mind off of it by staring out the window, at the colorful autumn leaves riding the wind through the cul-de-sac. Just yesterday that had seemed so peaceful. Now nothing felt right.

"Membrane Empire Labs," someone said, "may I help you?"

"Can I speak to Professor Membrane, please?" I asked, "I'm his daughter, and this is urgent."

"Please hold on," the receptionist responded. I fidgeted as I waited for the call to be transferred. Staring out the window didn't seem to help at the moment, so I closed my eyes. But that brought visions, haunting images of a semi truck with headlights glaring brightly, a vehicle about to crush me unsuspectingly, but two hands forcing me out of the way, an unforeseen sacrifice that happened all in one instant…so much courage and glory in one moment, something hard for me to comprehend…

I snapped my eyes open just in time as Dad answered the transfer.

"Daughter?" he asked, "What's your emergency?"

I felt a huge lump in my throat.

"It's…hard to explain…"

"Well, Gaz, is it bad enough that I need to come home?"

"Yes, Dad, it is," I took in a deep breath in preparation, "You see, Dib and I were walking home from school, and…well…something terrible happened."

"Are you both alright?" I heard a deep concern in his voice I was a bit surprised to hear.

"No, Dad, not both of us," I told him, "we were crossing the street…and there was a semi truck…I was playing my Gameslave 2…and…and…Dib…"

"What is it, honey?" Dad said in a panicked voice.

"Dib-pushed me out of the way…and…he…got hit…Dib is…dead."

Dad was silent. The only sounds I heard were my heavy breathing and the receiver tapping at my head as I tried to hold it in my shaking hands. Finally, I heard something from the other end. A small clank told me that Dad had set the receiver down, but hadn't hung up. I had a sudden fear that Dad would just leave the phone there and go back to work, pretending nothing was wrong, like he had done when Mom died. I was afraid now he would be in strict denial about Dib, too. But a rush of hope began to act when I heard what Dad called in the background to his assistant:

"Simmons, I'm going home."

I waited more anxiously than I ever had before for Dad to get home. I tried everything I could to keep myself sane: watching T.V., getting a snack, taking a nap, or just pacing the floor, and after what unfairly seemed to me like days, but by the clock was only twenty minutes, Dad knocked swiftly on the door. I flew over and opened it, and to my utter surprise, Dad seemed to now have a very stern and angry expression, which didn't at all match the tone of voice I had heard over the phone. Before I could speak, he said, in a reprimanding voice, the last thing I expected him to say:

"Daughter, you're grounded."

Needless to say, I was taken aback.

"W-What? But-what about-what do you mean?"

"Gaz, you should know better," he crossed his arms.

"It wasn't my fault!" I said as tears poured forth, "Dad, you can't blame it on me!"

"Oh, so it wasn't your fault that you called me to play this sick joke on me?" my father bent down until he was at eye level with me, "I was in a panic, Daughter, a panic like none I had ever experienced. Now just confess that you were clowning around, let me see that your brother is safe, and I'll be going back to work."

I was shocked. He was in denial.

"No, Dad," I said shakily, "it's…it's not a joke…"

"Where is my son?" Dad said firmly, as if I hadn't spoken.

"He's dead, Dad…he got killed."

"Where is my son?"

Too choked up for words, I pointed a shaking finger towards the living room. Dad nodded and strode off to see Dib. He stopped as if remembering something, and looked back at me.

"Come along, Gaz," he told me, "you'd best go in there with me and apologize to both your brother and me."

"Dad," I said pleadingly, "do I look like I'm joking?"

He stood there for a moment with a blank stare.

"You are joking. Dib is perfectly fine, you have to be joking, and that's the end of it."

He turned on his heel and continued towards the living room, motioning me after him. I was too agonized to move. Dad disappeared around the corner, and I managed to stumble after him a bit and peer into the living room.

The man walked right to where Dib's unmoving form lay, bent down, and placed a hand on the boy.

"Son, what's wrong?" he asked, and moved him slightly and glanced at his face. Dad froze.

"Dib…W-what-n-no…oh, no, no," Dad mumbled, struggling to get up, "He can't be-no…Son, please, please no…you can't be…No. No. No!" He screamed and swung a fist at a nearby wall. I clutched myself and dropped to my knees, focusing on Dad's image as the room began to spin. He returned my look with a piercing stare, as if begging me to say that this wasn't happening.

"Gaz, what do we do? I can't do anything for him," he admitted, "exoskeletons won't work for this, so how…what…?"

I couldn't answer.

"I can't take this again!" he yelled in frustration, "I couldn't take it when your mother died, and I can't lose my son, too!"

"I…don't know what to do, either…" I said weakly.

Dad walked over to where I was huddled up on the floor, dropped to his own knees, and wrapped his arms around me. I grasped his torso, and we held each other for the rest of the afternoon, sobbing softly.

The next day was windy, with all too frequent chills that whipped out of nowhere and taunted people to go home and crawl back in bed. I had considered this inviting option as my agenda for at least half of the day, but in order to distract myself from the shock of the previous afternoon, I had chosen instead to go to school. Maybe there I could forget for a little…

I had been sent with a lunch of a bologna sandwich, some crackers, and a thermos of Poop cola, but I wasn't too eager to eat it at lunchtime. I mainly sat in the cafeteria with my head propped up on my hands, staring at my sandwich. I looked up occasionally, hoping to see Dib sitting next to me, boasting about having discovered a new weakness of Zim's and how he would exploit it for the good of humanity. I had always found it amusing in a way, since I never considered Zim a threat.

"What's wrong with that Gaz girl?" someone said. I listened in.

"I don't know. Ask her," a second voice responded.

"I don't want to talk to her. She's weird," the first kid said in disgust.

I turned to look out of curiosity. Several kids at a nearby table were staring at me, and a few occasionally made apathetic gestures.

"I think she heard us," the second kid said, and pretended to occupy himself with his cole slaw.

"Someone ask her what's wrong," the first one urged, her eyes darting to the others.

The others were quiet for a moment, and then one of them got up and approached me.

"Hey, what's with you?" he asked.

"Uh…I-" I couldn't find the words.

"Hey, where's your brother?" the first kid who spoke called to me, "doesn't he sit with you because he's a misfit, too?"

I could only stare at her despondently.

"What's wrong?" the boy standing in front of me pressed impatiently.

"Does it have to do with Dib?" the second kid who had spoken asked.

I nodded. "Something…happened to him...yesterday…"

The cafeteria promptly fell silent as the majority of the kids looked up. Then, before I could blink, dozens of them were tripping over each other-and tripping each other-to gather around me.

"What happened?" one asked eagerly.

"Did he get hurt?"

"Is he sick with some previously undiscovered disease?"

"Did he transfer to another school?"

"Did he get kidnapped?"

Many were exchanging quick glances, but rather than concerned looks, they were giving each other hopeful smiles. I sat, greatly appalled, until someone shouted out, "Well, what happened?"

I soon grew enraged. "He died! Yesterday he got hit by a semi truck while saving me! Now go away!"

Everyone stared quietly, and, denying my request to be alone, remained still.

"I think she told you all to go away," someone nearby asserted. But the crowd refused to disperse, and merely ignored Zim. I looked over at him. He was standing next to me, with eyes reflecting agitation at the assembly.

"Zim, I…don't need…" but I soon surrendered my headstrong nature for the moment. Hoping they'd comply with him, I waited in wrought angst for the next thing to happen. But what did happen startled me. All at once, uproar began, not of anger or mourning, but of cheering.

"He's gone?!" someone yelped in excitement.

"Dead?"

"Out of our lives?"

"We don't have to hear him rambling about his damn crazy stuff anymore?"

The gathering erupted into laughter. I couldn't stand it…

"Stop!" I yelled, "What are you all doing? He gave his life for me. He's a hero. Now shut up!"

The assembly fell silent, looking on in confusion. Then one spoke up.

"Didn't you always feel like we do about him?"

It stung. A deep, overwhelming sting inside me…no…no…had I felt like that towards him? Had I treated him like that? I had done more than that, though, more…

I felt sick, so I set off to the office to get permission to go home.

My house was dimly lit, but in sort of a tranquil way. I entered and headed straight for the kitchen, hearing Dad moving about in it.

"Dad?" I said upon entrance.

"Hey, honey," he turned to me, "I figured you might want to come home. I made some Supertoast and hot chocolate. You want any?" He showed me a slice of his culinary invention, Supertoast, and a piping hot mug of cocoa.

"No, thanks," I answered, "I think I'm going to go to bed."

I dragged my feet down the hall, and opened a bedroom door. But not my own bedroom. Surrounded by posters of aliens, newspaper clippings, and the glow of blue, the favorite color of the room's late occupant, I crawled into a bed opposite the room's door and soon went to sleep, hoping tomorrow would be better.

Author's Note: Sorry I took so long to update this story. I tend to be lazy about these sorts of things. Don't worry; things will look up for Gaz and Professor Membrane in the fourth chapter. Praise and constructive criticism appreciated.