Chapter 7:

Sleepover!

[Dib]

"That's a lot of pizza."

Gaz's flat tone greets us at the back porch. I glare over my shoulder as Zim steps out of the Voot he's parked in our backyard, arms filled with a comical stack of pizza boxes.

"Yeah," I grumble. "He's, uh, staying with us tonight. I guess."

Gaz slowly arches a brow while the rest of her bored expression remains unchanged.

" Why? "

"I don't know, Gaz," I snap. "It's not like I invited him."

She groans in response and steps aside just enough to let me through the doorway. "So, I have to let him in?"

" Yes , pig-smelly." Zim hops up the steps to the porch and shoves past me, knocking my head with his ridiculous tower of boxes.

"Zim," I hiss as he squeezes by. "We really don't need that much pizza-"

"Don't be stupid!" he shouts. Gaz slams the door behind us and glares at me with her arms crossed. "Zim read that large amounts of food are required for such events." He squints at the both of us and frowns. "Clearly, I am more prepared than either of you worms."

"What 'event' are you talking about?" Gaz mutters. "We're not doing anything."

Zim slams the pile of boxes on the kitchen counter, and I'm honestly surprised they hold their teetering form.

He whirls around to face us with a big, toothy grin. "The sleeping overs, you simple-minded babies!"

I don't think Gaz could frown any harder. "Listen slug, just because you're staying here tonight doesn't mean this is a sleepover."

"Yeah, Zim," I add. "Sleepovers are like…parties. It's all planned, and you have to be invited ."

He sneers. "Oh please, Dib - as if your attendance has ever been formally requested!"

Gaz smirks as a puff of air widens her nostrils. "He's got you there, Dib."

"Great," I roll my eyes and turn towards the stairs, "I didn't realize today was national 'Everyone Shit on Dib' day–"

"That's every day, really–"

"-but I hope you two assholes can entertain each other while I go rinse all this shit off of me."

"Don't be too long, Dib-smelly!" Zim shouts after me. "Zim will not be robbed of this Earthen tradition!"

I sit under the shower head until the hot water runs out - an impressive feat, really, given that my dad fussed about making a water heater that supposedly produced "endless hot water."

…Not that he would ever know , because the man has his daily routine timed to the millisecond, and has never taken a shower longer than eight minutes and thirty-three seconds.

Add that to the list of shit he's oblivious to , I think with a frown. I dry off and throw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, avoiding my reflection in the bathroom mirror. When I step outside the makeshift sauna, I'm greeted with a punch to the shoulder.

"Ow!" I stagger back against the door and glare at Gaz. Attacking someone in or near the bathroom should be considered a war crime.

Then again…this is Gaz. The label of "war crime" would only serve as motivation, not a deterrent.

"That's for making me walk home by myself," she growls. She stares at me and squints with an expression that's noticeably less murderous than usual. "I'm glad you're…better." And with that, she turns and skulks down the hall to her room.

I stare blankly as her door slams shut. With a shallow sigh, I figure I should at least make sure I don't have any leftover - ( don't think blood, don't think blood) - stuff in my hair. I lean back into the bathroom and wipe the condensation off the glass with my forearm, preparing for the worst.

But…she's right. I am much better. I examine my reflection and note how clear my skin looks now. Hardly any bruises or scrapes. I tug my shirt up to my neck to see the scar along my chest hasn't faded completely, but everything else is almost gone.

"Huh." Whatever Zim did while I was asleep actually worked.

Great, so I owe that little shit even more now.

I flip the light switch off and pad to my room. Surprisingly, neither Zim nor GIR are invading the privacy of my bedroom.

"Hm." I reach for my glasses on the dresser, but as they settle on the bridge of my nose, I frown.

What…?

I take them off and hold them up to the light in search of smudges. Nope. Clear.

Then why…?

A sharp realization hits me. I jump to my feet and scramble to the window, wrenching it open and leaning out into the warm summer night air.

It's…all clear. I can see everything in my backyard - the details of the leaves glinting in the moonlight, the blades of grass with dew drops still gripping the edges, the etches in the back fence. And as I lift my gaze, I realize I can see down the entire street of houses with a clarity I've never experienced - not even with my glasses.

"What the fuck?" I breathe, gripping the windowsill tighter. How… how is this possible?

"Dib-stink!"

Zim's shrill voice snaps me from my trance. I whirl around and accidentally hit my head on the windowpane.

" Ow - what do you want, Zim?" I rub the side of my head and glare at him standing in the doorway.

He points to the open window I nearly fell out of in an accusatory fashion. "Were you attempting to escape?"

I roll my eyes. "No, Zim. I was just…getting some fresh air."

His glare holds several questions and opinions of literal "air freshness," but he ends up clicking his tongue instead. "No escaping," he says firmly. "We made a deal."

I arch a brow and scoff. "No, Zim - the deal was about me not having to eat the–" I snap my mouth shut on the word blood and try again. "The…you know. Medicine. It had nothing to do with my freedom to stick my head outside a window."

"Well, Zim is amending it now!" He stomps his foot to punctuate his seriousness. "Until your condition has resolved, you are to listen to me and stay in your home ." He crosses his arms. "Either your home or my base. Those are your two options."

I wrinkle my nose. "Obviously, I'll choose my house. Yours is literally the worst," I say, quoting Gaz. His eyes light up with newfound rage, but Gaz steps into the room and elbows Zim out of the doorway.

"Move, slug."

His only response is a hiss as he shuffles aside.

"You losers gonna argue all night like an old married couple, or can we go eat that pizza?"

Zim is still thinking about what "old married couple" means when she scans his body and scoffs. "And aren't you gonna change? Or do you wear that trash 24/7?"

His antennae stiffen and he shows his teeth. " Trash ? You insult the great Irken garments?"

"Yeah," she deadpans. "Don't you have PJs?"

"I–" he stops short and frowns. "Uh, what are those?"

She groans and slumps against the door frame. "Clothes you wear to sleep." She gestures to her purple silk pajama pants and black, baggy tank top.

He stares at her outfit, then looks at me. She scoffs again.

"Yeah, Dib's technically count."

"They're just usually loose-fitting clothes," I add, because Zim looks very, very put off guard. "You know…comfortable."

He taps his chin and finally speaks in a quiet tone. "And these… pee-jays are required for sleepovers?"

I crinkle my nose in disgust. "Don't say it like that. And yeah, I guess. People wear them to sleep. But you don't have to do that–"

"Irkens do not have alternate attire." He crosses his arms and glares at the carpet. "Zim will need to borrow some of yours."

"Oh." I glance around the room. "Uh…I don't really have–"

"Dib doesn't have extra pajamas," Gaz mutters. "He just wears the same shit over and over. That's why he smells so bad all the time."

I throw my arms up, heat creeping across my face. "I do not! I do my laundry, I just don't see the point in owning a bunch of shirts and pants when washing machines exist."

She shrugs. "Give him a pair of your boxers, then."

"Fuck no!" The mental image of Zim wearing my underwear is something I hope never contaminates my thoughts ever again. "Are you crazy? He'll make them radioactive or something."

Zim jerks his head back, rather offended. "Do not fool yourself, worm," he hisses. "Zim would not dare to use your infested under garments." He crosses his arms and walks out of the room. "I shall check the female's clothing options."

Gaz's lip curls and she stalks after him. "Zim, if you touch anything in my room, I will dissect you!"

I know better than to enter Gaz's room, so I head downstairs in hopes of avoiding the nuclear explosion those two will surely create. I find GIR rifling through the pizza boxes on the counter. He has a small, red pouch in his hand, and when he finally notices me, he makes a startled yelp and tosses the plastic inside his head…bucket…thing.

He slams the pizza box shut and offers a wide smile. "Mary! Hi Mary! You smell nice!"

I cross my arms and purse my lips. "GIR, what were you doing with the pizza?"

He glances around nervously and if he could sweat, I'm sure he would. "Just making sure the pizza is safe!" He opens the box an inch before closing it again. "I's still there, whoo!" He wipes his brow with an exaggerated motion and scoots nervously from the counter.

I change tactics and lean down towards him with my hands braced on my knees. "You know, Zim and I are on a mission together, so we're not keeping secrets right now. And if you tell me what you were doing, I'll make sure to let Zim know you've been a great helper."

His eyes widen at the thought of praise. It's a bit sad, actually. He glances around again and taps his feet in a nervous little dance. "I wanna be the best helper," he whines. "Master went to the place all them sick peoples go to die. And he brought presents!" He pops the lid of his head open, pulls out two of the red bags, and slaps them on the table with pride. "Master said these are special, just for you, Mary!" His large eyes waver slightly. "H-he's such a good boy."

I stare down at the bags, incredulous. "These are…"

Blood bags .

"Special Ketchup!" GIR squeals and claps his hands. Then he stops, very serious. "But it's just for you, Mary." Another creepy, giant smile. "Isn't that nice?"

I nod along and reach for the bags with a shaking hand, but GIR's eyes flash red for the briefest second, and he snatches them off the table. Back into his head they go. I retract my hand and clear my throat, trying not to sound as fucking disturbed as I feel.

"And, uh, you added this to my pizza…right?"

He salutes and sticks out his tongue. "Yes sir, Mary sir! Now your pizza is all done!"

Special Ketchup. My fingers curl to fists at my side.

Zim, I'm going to fucking kill you.

I should win a goddamn Oscar for keeping it together when Zim and Gaz come downstairs. I fight to ensure my expression stays neutral and bored while I arrange the pizza boxes - the ones not smothered in human blood - on the coffee table. GIR flips channels and squeals occasionally at the ads.

I glance up as the two stroll over to the couch and I almost choke on my spit.

Zim is wearing a light purple shirt with "long" sleeves that barely reach his elbows, let alone cover his lower abdomen, and a tiny pair of baby pink shorts.

" What –" I feel the blood rush to my face as my diaphragm sputters, "-are you wearing? "

Zim's hands snap to his hips and he turns his nose up dramatically. "Obviously, you wouldn't know, Dib —but these are the required pee-jays your decidedly less-smelly sibling so graciously provided." He scoffs distastefully. "She is a far better host than you , Dib-stink…though I guess there is not much competition."

I can't stop laughing. It's the sort of laugh that becomes concerning, straining the vocal chords, burning the lungs. The kind that devolves into heavy, wheeze-littered coughs. I blink back the tears and struggle to compose myself when I notice Gaz smirking.

"They're my old PJs," she clarifies, and is that a laugh she's holding back? She clears her throat and attempts to shrug, but it's tight. "From when I was, like, ten."

I flop onto the couch for much-needed support. "You look like a girl, Zim."

"Oh, so Zim is fashionable?" He sneers. "I care not for your pitiful social constructs. These are comfortable –"

"-and your only option, really–"

"AND comfort was listed as a requirement, so I am properly dressed for this occasion." With a hmph , he follows Gaz to the couch.

"You'd make fun of me if I wore tiny shorts," I grumble to her as she makes her perch on the other side. She hits me with a throw pillow.

"Yeah, but I'd make fun of you for literally any reason. I don't even need a reason, honestly."

"Hm."

"Plus, he's kind of cute. Like a doll."

I sputter at the thought of anyone describing Zim as "cute," but Gaz is…well, Gaz. She wouldn't exactly know what a normal doll looks like, anyway.

"A mutant one, sure," I mutter.

GIR sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, flipping channels at high speed and ignoring our antics. I hear the crunch of popcorn and wonder when he made that.

" Scoot over , Dib." Zim plops between me and Gaz, driving his elbow into my side. He tucks his knees in and wraps his arms around them, shifting until he's properly wedged between us. His legs are longer after his recent growth spurt (how many of those do Irkens have?) and his skin is surprisingly, strangely soft against my arm. Like silk? No, a little different–

Shut up, brain .

I press myself as close as I can to the arm of the couch and wince. Just another thing my dad failed to account for: a couch that fits more than two people. I can hear him now, ranting about the use of space and how unnecessary it is for anyone to even sit on a couch, not when there's so much science to do!

Ugh . I grimace at the memory and instead consider the irony of him being half a world away while an actual alien lounges on his furniture…

In tiny shorts .

I shake the thought and try to focus on the pizza box Gaz opens, but Zim isn't making it easy. The ridiculous outfit aside, he's trying to basically poison my food, but I can't rat GIR out. Not yet, at least. I have to play it cool. Cool, calm, collected.

I grab a slice and shove half of it in my mouth when a strange sensation coats my tongue. I almost spit it out, but Zim is glaring at me expectantly, so I chew and swallow as if I'm eating normal, tasty pizza and not…clay? Sand?

Jesus fucking Christ, why does it taste so bad?

My appetite vanishes. I stare at the remaining slice in my hand, mourning my taste buds as Zim leans in.

"There's… better pizza in the kitchen, Dib-worm." God, he's so bad at this. I resist the urge to gag as I chomp down on the rest of the disgusting assault to my senses that is this pizza. He watches intensely as I chew–

Mulch, wet sand, gritty clay - absolute garbage–

And swallow. It drags down my throat with an attitude no food should possess, and my forearms break out in goosebumps.

"This pizza's great," I manage, tensing as I swipe my tongue over my teeth to clear the debris. Fuck . "Besides…I'm actually not that hungry. I ate a lot before we came here, remember?"

I bet that pizza was full of blood , I think bitterly. It tasted so good - so… normal . I can't believe he tricked me like that. I can't believe I fell for that.

"Suit yourself," Gaz mutters, snatching the box to her side of the coffee table. "More for me!"

GIR finally decides on an old movie about killer ooze. Colorful scenes of terror flash across the screen, illuminating the living room as screams and evil, goopy laughter fill the air.

Zim somehow scoots closer, his bare knees tucked into his chest, knocking against my own.

"Personal space, Zim," I mutter. He ignores me and continues glaring, because that's all he can do at the moment. He can't outright ask about the other pizza, and he's too curious to see if "normal" food will satiate me, so he's studying me instead, like a new species in the field.

Though, field scientists typically have a bit more tact. I put all my energy into keeping my eyes fixed on the screen, watching a movie I've seen a dozen times and acting as if it's brand new, captivating material.

"Are you…feeling okay?" he whispers. His breath ghosts my neck and I shudder, trying to shake off the unsettling proximity and nudging him away with my shoulder.

"Yeah, Zim - I'm fine. Stop interrupting the movie."

"Yeah, dorks," Gaz adds, stealing some of GIR's popcorn. "Go make out somewhere else."

My face burns, but my protest dies in my throat because Zim practically sits on my arm as he turns to face Gaz.

"What is this 'making out,' and is it also a requirement for the festivities?"

Gaz snorts on a mouthful of popcorn. "I guess it depends on the type of sleepover."

Zim's antenna jut up at this new information. "There are different kinds?!" He seems truly shocked, and I'd find it much funnier if I wasn't trying so hard to ignore how feverish my body becomes by each passing second. Oh god, is it the blood? Has it been too long? Is normal food poisonous now?

Stay calm, dipshit . It's probably nothing, or maybe Irkens have a weird layer of poison that coats their bare skin and that's why he's always in uniform and that's why he's so soft–

I push him off of me with a grunt and get up.

"Dib?" he asks, wide eyes staring at me. Does he sound…concerned? Or suspicious?

"I'm just getting some water. You guys want anything from the kitchen?" I offer as I duck beneath the screen. GIR throws his empty bowl at my head, and I surprise myself by catching it.

"More corn, Mary! The exploded kind!" He goes back to staring slack-jawed at the movie, entirely consumed with interest.

"Okay, I'll get some more…exploded corn, I guess." Gaz just hums in agreement. I expect Zim to follow me into the kitchen, but he simply stares from the couch, analyzing my every move. Is this how I made him feel for all those years?

… Even if it was, he deserved it.

I microwave more bags of popcorn and chug a big cup of cold water to soothe the burning in my skin and I do not look at the box of "special ketchup pizza" and I do not think about opening it and inhaling every last crumb and licking the cardboard clean.

I slam the microwave shut and GIR squeals with delight as I toss him a hot bag of popcorn.

"Yay!" He kicks his feet like a child. "Explodey corn!"

"Thanks, nerd," Gaz mutters, tripping me as I return to my minuscule section of space on the couch. I almost fall on top of Zim, but he curls up in a ball and catches my chest with his feet, pressing the air from my lungs. I glare down at him, then at the pink socks stretched methodically over his toe-claws.

This shit can't be real.

When I take too long to move, he squints, showing teeth. "Do not crush Zim with your filthy body, meat-boy." He pushes me back onto my feet and I think twice about returning to the confined prison of the couch.

"You know what?" I sigh and rub my face. "I'm really tired. I'm just gonna go to bed."

"Whatever." Gaz flips me off - her way of saying goodnight. But this time, she adds, "You better be here when I wake up, or I'll stuff you in a blender."

I smile, and she sneers. "Thanks, Gaz. I love you too."

"Meh." She goes back to watching the movie and I run a hand through my hair.

"Zim, guests sleep on the couch during sleepovers, so make yourself comfortable or whatever. I'll see you guys in the morning."

Strangely, he says nothing. No quips or jokes or insults - he just watches me as I turn and head up the stairs. I feel his eyes until I'm down the hall and closing my door behind me. The lights are off and I collapse onto the bed, not bothering to get under the sheets because now my skin hurts and I don't have enough energy to care. I lie there and stare at the ceiling fan, tilting as it spins.

Not too much later, I hear Gaz trudge to her room and lock her door. Ten minutes pass. Zim doesn't knock when he opens the door, and just as I thought, he's holding the box of blood-pizza.

He stands awkwardly at the entrance of my room, red eyes blinking in the soft, blue shadows. He clears his throat and lifts the box a little, as if I haven't noticed it yet.

"Zim has procured sustenance for The Dib."

I tuck my arm under my head nonchalantly. "I'm fine, I already ate."

He stares at me, and his lips flatten into a thin line. "But you are a growing Earth child," he mutters. "You should consume this pizza so you don't shrink."

"No, I'm fine…" I sit up against the headboard and tilt my head at an angle. "Unless you think there's something wrong with the food I have here?"

He frowns and steps into the room, gently closing the door behind him. "... No."

"You sure?" I press, crossing my arms and leaning forward. "It's not missing any, I don't know, secret ingredients?"

His left antenna twitches. "I will launch that robot into the farthest reaches of space."

"I knew it!" I jab a finger toward him, and he snarls defensively. "You've been putting blood in my food! What did we agree to?"

"Zim lied about your foolish pact!" he hisses. "I do not understand why the Dib cannot get it through his MASSIVE head that the human fluids are a necessity! Do you lack all sense of self-preservation?"

I press my index fingers into my temples and glare. "Tell me where you got the blood, Zim."

His lip curls and he squints.

"Tell me!"

"I stole it," he mutters begrudgingly. "From the health facilities."

"Oh, thank God," I heave a sigh of relief before raising my arms over my head. "Wait - Zim! People need that blood - it's for the patients! You know, other humans who are sick or dying ?"

He hisses at me again, his creepy worm tongue protruding from his mouth. It's some kind of miracle that he's kept his voice down to an enraged, hushed tone. "YOU need that blood, you ridiculous garbage sack! Do you not realize that Zim's stealthy fibbing is the ONLY reason you have recovered so quickly? Your new state of existence requires it for your body to continue functioning–"

"No, Zim - I don't need blood!" God, my skin hurts. "I-I'll get better without it, or I'll wait until you've found some kind of cure. I'm fine for now."

Fornowfornowfornow–

"Of course," he bites, "put all the responsibility on Zim YET AGAIN to solve your putrid dilemmas."

"Just get out, Zim," I groan, slumping back. "I'm done dealing with your bullshit. I'm going to bed."

"So you don't want this?" He shakes the box and I cansmellit.

"No." Yesyesyes. "I'm not hungry."

He bares his teeth and glances at the open window. I roll my eyes.

"It gets stuffy in here, so no, I'm not closing it."

His eyes narrow. "We discussed this–"

"Get out or I'll throw this cup of water at you!" I snap, grabbing the glass on my nightstand. He hisses and scuttles out of the room, taking the pizza with him.

"Fine!" he spits. Then he slams the door. I heave out a sigh and drag the covers over my head, relishing the darkness and the ticking of the clock on the wall. My head throbs and my gut churns and my skin burns but it's okay, because I'll feel better tomorrow, I just need rest. After a while, the exhaustion grows stronger than all the little whispers in my brain. My eyelids droop, heavy as anchors, and I'm pulled down into dreamless sleep.