Chapter 19:

Spaces Between

[Zim]

Dib has lost it - completely and utterly lost it. The undulating rage bursts from every pore in his body; a volcanic eruption with the magnitude of those that terraform worlds.

He paces back and forth, seething, frothing, cursing, warping between grated screams and the choked beginnings of a sob.

"Whoever did this - whoever took her - they're fucking dead–"

I grow numb in the shadow of his emotional collapse. His voice fades in and out.

"–need to go–"

I stare at the note - the knife and the blood - and I become smaller and smaller until it feels as if I don't exist at all.

"–have to find her –"

He grabs me too hard. I can't focus on his face or his questions. Only the knife–

"–Zim–"

Only the blood–

"–the Voot and g–"

He pulls me toward him, ripping my gaze from the paper and the ink.

"Are you listening to me, Zim? We're wasting time - we need to–"

The words pulse with violent ringing. The static fills my eyes. It's happening again, like before. It's happening and I can't stop it.

"–Zim–"

Stop it–

I need to stop it–

I need to–

"Zim!"

Before I can understand what I'm doing, my fist connects with his temple in a sharp and solid crack!

He drops to the floor. The change in momentum destabilizes me and I stagger into the wall. My legs give in; I sink beside him and bring my knees to my chest as the waves rise. The noise rushes in and it's louder than anything I've ever experienced; an earthquake crushing my bones into one another, bending the plates, snapping the joints.

Figure it out, figure it out, you have to figure it out–

My claws grip my head, digging, digging, digging–

You have to fix it fix it fix it fix it NOW–

There is no air or light or sound beyond the noise. My body wilts beneath the torrent, and I crumble, shrinking smaller, folding in, drowning in the horrid swarm, the buzz, the deep, sickening vibration.

It's okay–

Stay still–

It's fine–

Stay quiet–

F̷̢̨̰̼̭̗̼͓̦̦̝͖͈̪͕͑͂̎́̆͊̑͐͆͂̅̀̏̌̔̑͛̑́͂͊̈́͊̾͒̚̚̚̚͘I̴̢̡̨̭̭̻̠̬̬͓̥̘͎̙͎̱̯̙̼̱̝͉̘̥̬̞̲͕̗̲̪̜̣̭̩͙̲̬̿̋̋͜͜͠ͅX̴̨̯̼̙̠̖͖̱̹͍͙̳̙̙͉͉͈̃̏̋̇́̐̈́̈́̒̅̀̆͜͝͠Ḭ̴̡͓̤͎͈̥̠̳͉͚́͛̿̀̐̅̄̾͗̚͝͠ͅŢ̸̢̡̬̖̣̙͕̺̼̼̹̣̪̺̙̱̠̜̹̹̼̺̜̘́̌͒́̒̈́̃͒̔͑̆̂̚͝ͅͅș̵͇͔̖̖̳͎̙̙̘͈̲̓̊̀͜t̵̢̢̢̢̛͎͉͙̪̰̬̮̥͔̲̪̦̖̹̣̼͕͕̲̺͕̝̜̺̗̺̦͓̫͎̝̯̥̋͐̽̿̆̑͊̇̉͆̑̑̆̅̈́̐̉̋̑̓̉́̽̂̒̂̅̒̐̌͋̒͘͠a̴̧̡̲̣̘̼̞͕̯̮̗̮͖̹̠̠̘͍̟̦̻͙͔̩͛̈́͌̓̍̀̎̋̍̇̒̎̄̅̇̓̄̈́̚͝͠͠y̸̨̖̼̳̳͍̤̖̯̻̥̪͈̼̪̯̟̗͓̮̭̬̣͋̋̓̄͌̆̒̉͋̽̈̍̅̌̈͌͂̐̓̌̌̐̔̓̕͝͝͝ͅş̸͖͙͉͉̝̬̎̄̌̽͌̐̎̍̃́̏̏̀͗͂͛̔̀̉͂̿̀͒̊̚͠͠ẗ̴̡̢̨̢̛̛̩̼͔͍̼͍̥̩̟̘̤̖͈̮͔̘̣̞̩̬͈̲́͌̒̂͐̓̈͂̆̀̋̅͑͊̈́̽̄̏͛̉̌̂̍̆̓̾̂̑̓̓̅̚̚͘̚͜͜ͅị̶̢̢̢̢̨͔̰͖̟͈̬͕̩̬̹͎̫̦̟̞̠̩̼͕̫̠̬̼̺̮̬͉̠͓͈͇͖͉͋̍̌͜ͅļ̶̛͖̜̜͎̲̺̩̾̈́̉̐̆̈̈̈́͌̕̚͝ļ̵̢̛̙̘͍̼̘͈̪̜̦̪͖̦͕̬͙̜̙͉̪͔̝͎͍͕̞͕̬̲̦̥̈́̅͗͋̓̔̓̉̓̇͑̓̈́͌͌̚͘̚̕͘͘͜͜͜͠͝ͅF̷̧̨̨̡̱̥̮̥͙͇͕̗̪̱̻̗͚̗̗͇͉̘̞͇̌̏̎̀̏̂̄́̽̍̃̓̌̇̚͜͝͠I̵̡̨̨̮͚̥͚̲͇̝̙̺̹̗͔̯̟̭͖̘͆̄́̔̑͋͗̊̏̂̆́̽͋ͅẌ̷̧̡̡̧̠̯̣̳̣͖̼̙̳͎̜̪̝̪̻̖͙̞̖̲́̍̌̆̓̈́̏͑̽̿͋́̑̐͑͊̃̈́̈́͐̌̄̓̌̉͛̾̊̏̄́̚̚͘͘̚͝͝͠ͅĮ̷̢̧̛͕͔̗̳̹̣̮̰̠̙̖̲̗̪͖̼͙̥̖̬̭̰̤̳͕̬̤͉̙̘͖͐̈́́̈́̂͌̐͆̉͗̑̃̾͑̈́̽̀̂̐̓͛̑̓͋̇̽̃͘͘̚̕͘͜͜͜͝͝ͅŢ̴̢̛͇͖̻͙̦̹̣̤̠̖̜̟̦̫̪̼̣͙͎̟̮̘͍̫̘̫͓̗̫̜̺̪͔̺̱̃̇́̏̑̌̌́̿̅͊̕̚͜͜͠ͅs̷̡̡̧̡̥̣̠̙͔̼͕͎̫̱̙̔̏̿̊̃̀̈̋̋̉̓̉̇̐̒̏̊̄̂͑̽̀̚͠t̴̡̡̧̡̛͈̘̙͎̤̬̻͍͖̬̩̯̱͉̮͍̜̭̼̼̫͙͎̩̩͆̓̈̊̋̾͑̑͐̓̂̂̓̈́͑̃̇̍̒͑̀̋͊́̍͑̀̅̈́́͌̄͌̌̕̚͝͝͝͠â̸̲͎̹̠̞͔͙͉̾̂͗̒̀͊̾́̏̔͘y̵̻͚̗̟̩̮̳̬̖̖͖̭͍͙̦̜̞͖͔͇͔̼̞̬͆̊̏̈́̉̃̊́͋͊͘̕̕ͅq̶̨̙͈̜͖͚̱̣̥̩͔̍̐͆̿̃̓̑͐͗̂̄̌̈́̀̈̀̏̐̏̍u̶̧̡̥͍̜̱̮̗̤̤̣̞͍̪͙̫͇͕͊̅̉͂̕͝͠ͅi̶̖͕̞͇̝̱͚̹͔͓̝͛͛̾͌͋̑̍͒̀͘͝e̵̢̢̛͕̹̱̳̩̤̳̰̹̜͕͉̥̼͕̥̭̟̟̞̣̗̝̯̱̮̞̟͓̮̘̲̅͐̐̽̍̐͆̌̾̚͘̕͘ͅt̴̡̼͉̬͎̩̞̤̹̺͉͙͇̦̗̰͙͌̑̑̎͑̈́͊̕͠͠ͅͅW̵͍̺̱͓̪̣̲͐̃̈́̋̏͊͛͊̏̈́͋̓̽͋̄͊̕͝͝Ä̴̯̮̹̭̘̼̦̥͎̦̞͕̲̮̱́̂̍̑̍͛̏́̊́̽́͋͛̏͊̌͊̔͘͘͠S̸̤̣͓̞̳̗̺̼͍̙͋̇̌̉̀́̿̐̽̌̏̏͠͝T̷̞̪̪̘̯̪̙̣͚̜̂͗̈́͒͑̀̓̈́͂̅̀̃͗͊͊̔̑̒̇̃̐̆̎̇̐̉̈̕Į̴̧̘͇͙̹̥̣̼̤̹̺̫͔̞̻̰̟̩̭̲̩͔͓̠͚̫͔̱̠̣̦̤͔̣̬̩͔̲̟̟̕ͅŅ̶̢̡̛̮̠̰̖̰͖͙͕̠̺͖̺̫͋͂̔͛͌̍̋̓̄̽̈́͒͛̍̎̕̕͘͜Ģ̴̡̘̱̗͔̰̰̗̻̘̦͉̙̼̻̈́̔̏͝Ţ̷̡̯͓͎̲̱̪̫̱̦̟̮̔̈́͛̏̏͆͗͂̉̈̏̈́̇͂̽̂̆͊̋͊͑̎́̽̈́̿̃͘̚͜Į̸̡̝̺͚̥̻̫͓̩̯̥̮̫̿͘͝ͅM̶̛̯͎̄́͒́̀͋̏̿̉̔̏̒͋̓̐̀̅̾̃̾̀͂̒̋̈͋͑̀̑̐̇͆̈́̀̚̕͝͝͠͠Ë̵̢̧̡̧̳̤͔̥̬̹̫̙̟͉̼͍̭̲̬̗̝̲̬͚̭̟̮̥́̇̌͗̈̂̑̏̿̉͋̍̈́̄̿́̕͘͠b̴̨̧̡̨̢̢̦̙̥͕͈̜̪͚̣͖̫̣̬̯̼͉̘̲̦̱͖̩̫̻̀̎̉̋͗̿̈́̋̑͐̾͜͝͝e̸̛̤͇̫͇̰͇̮̗͔͍̯̲̹̰̤͓͚̋́̒́͊͗͂͗̊̌̌͠ͅq̵̢̧̡̞̤͔̮̹͈͇̟̟̰͔̥̦̬̟̂͐̍̈́͒͗̒̄̈́̔̅̋̇́̓ǘ̷̡̿̾ĭ̴̡̗̥̝̲̤̱̹̗̜̩̣͙̼͙̻͉͍̙̳̹̲̼͕̲͔͓̣̅͒̀̔̐́̏̽̽̉͌̉̓͋͗͐̽̒̈́̽͋̌̉̔̆̑͂̅͑͂̏̈́̃̚͘̕͘͜e̸̡̪̞̫̲͈̦͂̑̇͂̋͐̒͂͆͋̌̀̅͊͑̈͒̃̿ţ̸̡̡̨̢̳̬̙̹̱̱̞̮͈͇̠̦͔̠͉̤͙͖͓̰̪̯̬͙͚͔͇̱̻̜̙̘͇̱́̒̏̍͆̌̑͑̑̿̈́̀̃͛̄͗͆̐̌̀̂̅̋̑͆͑̈̆̆́̊̄̀̒̋͗̚̕͝͠ͅỲ̶̧̨̢̘͍̼͉͉̜̩̤̪̫̹̟̮͎̠͈͙͎̠̯̦̘̝̼̘̪̮̜̯͖̬͚͊̐͗̄̃͜͜͝ͅO̶̺̊͆̎̂̄̂̓̃̿̄̈́̎͊̔͑̑̇̏̒̌͘͝͝Ṷ̷̢̢͍̦̤͉̮͚̙̏̔̏̊̇̂̅̾̾̏̈͒̾̾̉͂̄̐͑̂͂̉͐͆̑̏̑̂̾͛̀̚͘̚̕͝͝͠͠H̶̡̧̧̡̡̨̛̫͉̝͇̬̭͈̩̥̺͚͕̤̟̜̤̯͈̟̹͔̯̥̠͎͈̗͕̪̞͈̫͗̆̅̒̔́̇̅͋̐̑̈́͗̔̉͒̃͊̌̈̅͛͜͜͝͠A̵̢̡̧̧̨͈̥̰̣̝̜̱̞̘̝͎̪̲̘̱͖͓̫͉̹͕̞̝̭̥̟̺͒̅͜ͅͅV̸̧̛̘̲͙̺̹̠̺̜͗́̔͆͗̄̈́̉̽͑̆̂͌̄͑͊͂̔́́̀̃̈́̃̃̀̂̋̌̌̓͘̚̚͝͝Ê̴͕̬̙̟̱̳̫̺̩͓̤̠̙̜̳͖̊̑̚͝T̴͖̾͒̈́͂͋̓́̌̀͊̈́͑̀̈̍̓̓̓̆̌̊͝͝͝͝Ǫ̸̧̨̢̡̳͍̟̣͕̯̫̣̦̜͕͓͉̖̭͚̟̪̜͉̫̻̣̩̞̠̹̟̭͔͍̗̰̳̘̞́̿̋̐̆̄̊̎̀̿͐̅̏͌̔̾̆̒̈́̕͝͝ͅš̷̨̘̠͈̘̗͍̳̗̱̈́͐̾́̓̊̓͆͊̾͐͊̒̀̅͌̇̌̋̅͂̍̕͝͝t̴̛̛͎̂͋̑͐͆̄͆͌̕ą̶̡̧̙͖̻̰̹̦̦͇̻̻̻͚͚̜̫̟̹̣͎̫͖͚͇͉̜͋͒̀́͆̇̂͘͜͝ͅẏ̴̜̥̮̃̔͐͗͗̎̅͗̈́̿́͋̋̑͒̒̎̀̈́̈́̕͝͠͝͠q̴̨̧̢̢̨̢̙̳͔̼̯̲̖̤̪̲͔̬̫̞̹͉͔͖͔̩̖̣̺͈̝̬̪̠̥̐̂͆͜͜͠ͅͅͅů̸̧̲̘̮̹̤͍̝͎̣̯̮̰͔͙͌͌̍̉̈̑́͊̔̿͋̕̕͝ḯ̸̧̜̦͖̼̙͉̼͎̼̮͔̫̗̦͇̬̯̤̞͎̫̂̈́̈̂͊̐̄̈́̈́̄̾̀͐̉͆͊̌̀̋̈́̊͒͌̂́̈́̀́̌̐̿̕͘̚͝ͅe̴̺̝̟͊͗̿͂̉̋̓̈́̌̿̈́͌̈́̆̊̀͂͑̅̏̚͝t̶̡̨̛̛̮͈̠͈̺͎̞͖̜̜̠͌̽̃̒͂̀̀̾̀̐̏͊̈́̄̑̋̀̈́̕͜͝͝

Stay still–

s̵̞͓̣̰͕̬̟̟̻͈̼̰̟̳̭̼͈͓̬̙͈̜͑̓͂̓̀̿̓̈́̂͑͗̃͗̚͜t̴͈̺̫̙̝̩̳̹̱͓̜̫̬̝̖̤̯̊̂̅̚͝ą̵̧̺̩̥̣͗̓͐̇͑̾͑͋͋͒͐͗͑́̌͑͛̀̊̂͒̉̉͊͘̕̚̚͠͝y̵̨̞̥̻̱͙̱̜͖̬̰̗͛̏̑̐͛͑̊͆ş̶̨̛̛̛̜̥͎̦͓̱̦̦̗͕̌̾́̐̾̾̌̒͌̐́̒͑̂͐ͅṭ̸̢̧̟̩͓͖̼̳̼̝̖̞̬̠͓̫̝̱̩͙̩͉̦̦̼̼̘̦̌͛ͅͅͅî̴̡̨̨̛͉̩͍̲͔̲͕͍̥̺͕͓͊͐̈́̋̔̃͌̌́̅̀̓̔̾̆̕̕͘͘͠͝l̶̡̡̛̩͈̙͐̌̄͌͂͆̇̑̃̉͐͊̒̈̆̃̋̅͑͛̽̓̽͘̚̕͠͠͠l̴̢̧̡̥̺͇̮̥͍̻̰͎̽̏̏̃̓̄̌̈́́̓́̀̆̇̐̓͆̈́̾̎͑͗͊̍͆͂͋̄̈̕̕͘͝ͅs̷̭̱̪͔̟̦̝̳͕̖̜͉͓̫̤̭̻̘͎̪̪̺̫̚̚t̷͙̺̹͍̼̻̻̘̅̎̈̀͊̒́̽̆̑̀͝ả̷̧̤͍̹̀́̓̌̃̅̽̾̚͘ͅȳ̴̯̬̞̖̰̋̑́͗͘q̵̢̨̣͉̲͓̻̹͓͓̹̟͕͖̦̝̠̠͉̘̱̺́͂̈́̍̌̚̚͜͝u̵̡̨̨̢̨̥̖̜̼̥̫̞͔̳͓͚̪̝̖̞̞̰̼̥̥͇͗̈́̓͋̂̀̍͒̀̅̓͌̏̈̂̄̄̈́͑͌̀͆͆̏͐̾͛͘͘í̵̡̡̞̖̥̬͇͙̠͍̰͔͖̰̙͉͕̣̲̱̱͚̹̠̮̥͙̏͑́̉̽̒̎̀͐́̏̋̉̃̃́̔͘͠ͅͅę̸̢̡̡̲͍̭̪͔͓̦̳̜͙̫̖̬̆̒̈́͊̒̅̉̂́̈́̀͋͘̚͘͠͝͝t̵̨̢̨̹̻͇͓̣̬̯̲̼̖̳͎̮͓̞͓͇̤̼͓͙̬̱̲͈̿̃̎̑̏̄͛͆̈́̈́̈́͆̒̆̌̀̿͘̕͝s̵̢̡̛̮̰̰̺͇͙̦̞̖̙̦̱̳̘̫̙̦̮̻̰̗̗̠̜̊̈́͂̽̏͂͋̈̈͋̀̏̂́͒͌̍͑̆̄͊̑̅̌͊̕̚̕͝͝ͅt̷̡͕̲̩͔̳̲͛̀͌̈́͐̇͐̔̓̌̆̉̍͂̚͠ͅa̴̡̧̛͈͔̜̜̺̘͖̣͕͚͖̟̼͉̮̜̞̼̱͈̱͕̳͔͓̞̻̥̹͂̉̈́̾̍̍̉́̀̋̎̓̆̓͜͠ÿ̸̨̨̨̧̧̡̰͚͓͓͉̤̯̠̬̯͖̪̰̜͙͓̝̜̲͉̦̯̯́̾͑̐̂̊̑͗̿̓͋̅̋̋̑̂͊̔̈́̄͆̕͜͝ͅs̶̢̨̱̺̭̝̘͎͇̪̳̥͖̙̺̬̻͙̙̩̠̣̻̺̹͍̑͑̋̒̔̍̍̔̓̅̅̈́̍͒̑́͆̇͊̾̕̕̕͘͜͜͝͠t̸͓̘̥̣̤͍͙̟̻̗̣̹̦͙̤͎͕̩̓̾̅̍̂̒̿͒̊́̚ͅį̵̲͕͎̫̱͉̫̳͖̠̺̎̂̓̓͋͛̊́̉͂̎̑̅͆͐̒̊̉͊̓̾́̔̿͑̀̚͘͘͝͠l̷̮͙̣͍̰̆̃̋̌͒́͋̓̀̓̄̎͒̍͝͝͠ļ̵̡̡̛̲̭̳̪̦̜̳͇̫̹̞̮̠̙̬̘̞͋̑́̀̅̿̕ͅş̷̡̮̣̜̖͓̰͖͓̫͎͎̜̘̗͕̲̮̫̱̼̰͈̻̣͇͇͎͇̻̣̏͌̈́̂͌͐͊̓̌̓̿͑͂̃̽̄͗̇̀̏̏̃͋͛͠͠ͅţ̵͉͉̬͕͚̭͚̤͚̞͓̰̽͋̂͌̅̿̋̂̉͛̌̀̕͘̕͝i̸̡̢̢̡̛͎̪̹̰͕͕̭̠̙̠̫̭̼̱̖̮̬̬̜͚͚̗̞͇̅̄̀̅̅͆̄̽̊͐́̇͑͜ͅl̷̠̯̐̇͌̎̄̆̾͗̈̔̐̄̈́͝͝͠ļ̸̧̬͈̟͈̯̝̝͎̜̫̭̬̏͆̓̏̑̓̊͘͜ͅṡ̵̡̨̧̡̖͕͙̩̻̖̳̹̳̘͈̝̪̱̪̺̥̪̠̣͛̈́̑̍͋̇̾̐̆̂̋͒͜ͅţ̷̡̻̩͓̯̟̲͙͇̪͍̣̟͈̼͕̜̳̉̍̿̊̃͂̌́̓̋͌̇̉͆͋̕͘̚̕̕͜͠͠ͅi̵̭̻͚̘̣͎͕̭͉͛͋̾̊̎̋͛͆̈́̌̀̒̂̃̂̀͒͐͌̀̄̕͘͘̕͠ͅl̴̛̘̿̿̂͊͋̉̐̐̓̎̈̇̇̽̒̇͌͆͌͋̆̍͒͌̕͘̕̚̕͝͝͝l̶̨̨̨͔̫͎̯̙̤̙̘̻̙̞͓͙̥̼̠̻̲̪̫̠͈̲͍̼͈̣̍̈͜ͅs̸̨̨̡̡̞̮̤̟̣̯̰̫̻̥͉͉̞̠̱͎͈̺̘̮̹̗̀͒͘ͅt̶̢͖̦̗̹̬̻̗͍͙͉̥͇̮̳̩̣̻̜̦̻̼͐́̉̽̍̎͑̃̌͛̀́̏̎̑̈́̿̓̈́̀̀͆̐̐̈́͘̚̚͠͝͝͠ͅͅa̴̧̛̺͉̰̘͓̭͍̲̟͓̞͇͔͖͍̠͖̳̱̥̲̖͖̼͉̗̹̘̔̀̽̓̄̎͐̿̆̿̆̆̾̃͂͌́̈́͘͠͠͝͠ỳ̷̡̨͍͉̤͔̺̘̩̖͕̬͉̤̰̫͔͚̟͉̓̂̀̏̍̈̓͋̂̋͗͂̿̊̄̂͊͆̍̌̄̉̕͝q̶͍͇͖̥͆̓͗̑̈́̀̏͆̒̏̓̄͛͐̕͘͠͠ų̷̡̝̙̭͉̳̩͕̞̠̲̐̀́͆͂̂͋̅͗̌̾͐̎̅̾̃̇̂̽́͊̐̐̍̈̕͘͠ͅͅį̷̢̧̛͇̦͎̪͙͍̟̩̮͇̤̬̮̝̘̗̩̼̳͉̼͚̳̀̓͌͛̈́̀̉́̿̍͐̈̆̋̑̕͜͜e̴̡̡͔̳̳̜͕̞̱͇͈̖̖̩̩̭̤̤̠̩̮̞͑̇̐̓̏̈́̂̃̅̅̅̏̏̓̉̉͌̇͊͘t̷̢̧͇̙̮͈̝̪̻͈̭͎̜̗̤̬̜̥͇͉̳͉͓̙̎͋̾

Stay quiet–

q̴̧͕̠̔̄̈̎̔̀̀̊̄̀̒̆̑͝u̵̡͎̮̤̇̄i̶̢̪̮̰̝͈̻͈̹͉̤͕̦̭͈͖͓̤͐̾̅͒̈́̃̐͒̇̍͛̀̇͛̓̉̐͠͝ͅẽ̴͔̞̝̞̱̻͛͐̍̓͋͝ţ̸̢̫̝̞̘̙̠̞͍̄́̈́̓͋̎̍͒̐́͗̓͘͝q̸̯͕̼́͂̀͛̿̍͐̈́̌̀̋̅̒̆̄ư̶̫͚̼͓̗̜̩͔̥̱͚̞̰̹̤̿͗̊̑̀̋̈̌̃̔̇̇͊͋̓̕̚͜i̴̡̡̜̫̠͖̻̣̼͑͆̿́̑̉͆̽́̀è̴̢̢̜̘̯͇̰̟̠̫̥̖͔̜̬̖͇̈̀̃̾ͅt̶̡̰̪̭̞̪̺̏̀̈́̈́̓͛͊͜͠ḧ̶͓͕̪̜̥̈́̅̀͑͆̈͐̊́̄̚͜͝ư̴̡̡̯̝̟͙͔̬̜̪̏̔͐̈́̀̋̓̄̿͌̔́͜͠͝s̸̳̓͑́͜h̵̹̑̋̔̈́̋͒̔I̴͉̟͈͗̇͒̅̓̅̐̏̚͜ͅF̶͕̌͌̏͂̀̓̊̄͑̐̆͋̄͂̾̅̏̕Į̵̛̛̛̤̖̩̗̰̳͖̮̫͕̰̩̎̊̓͋̇͂̓̇̿̽̈́̋͐͌X̸͍̺̲̟̬̝͇̜̌͒̂̎̓͌̈́̈́̇͘̚Ì̸̧̧̛̹̪̰͍̹̤͇̱̰͉̞̦̻̈́̏̍̃͗̀̿̏́̓̆̌̍͘͝T̴̨͙͓͚̼̤̻̘̒͒̐̊̃̇̔̈́̽̏̅͒͘͠q̶̨̺̣̘͌̄̑̃͘u̵̧͇̥̣̗̣̦̱̪͍̟̩̭̖̖̣͙̘̯̣͂͆̊̅̈́̐̈̌́̓̈́̃͆͠í̷̞̦̗̰̀͐́̂́͋̍͒̅́͊ȩ̸̜̩̱̠̤̒̇͛̕t̷̢̧̪̠̰̫̩̬̗̤̱̺͓͖̼̭͈̩̓̈̈́̆̌͂͊̑͝͝ͅb̷̧̧̘̬̣͕̖͖͚̬̐͒͐͝ę̴̧̨̨͎̺̠͙̯̟̭̠̤̙̀͐̋̇̋̿͂̿͊͂̕͝ş̶̡̻̞̙̬̦͉͇̟̯̫͉͖̺͉̜̩̋͐̐͒̂̔̓͌͑͗̚͜ṭ̷̢̨̼̙̩͖͍̣̌͐̆͊̀͋͛̂̈́̀̕͘͝͠i̵̫͓̝͘l̶̢̛̪̖̠͕͙̖̹̟͓͓̖͉͎̰͈͈̜̖̏̈͑̒͆̇̒̈́̆̍́̚͘͠͝͠l̷̬͔̗̜̰͎̒b̶̢̛̛̛̛̛̘̲̲̳̯͍͚͓̦̻͖̜̜̻̖̖̒̀̊̓̎̄̑̃̋̾͊̓͆͑é̷͓͖͉̻͚͎̩͖̤̲̦̘̱̪͠ͅq̵̻̼͕͍̠̆́͆̈́͌̍̓̎͂͒͗̂̉̋̂̿́̕͠͠ư̶̼̐̐̐̈́̆̋̌ḯ̶̢̧̭̜̪͎̮̙̖͓̦̝̥̘̼̺͔̀̎̈́͋̍ȩ̷̛̘̬̖̻̙̅̈́͋͂̓̅̀̌̒͐̋̑͗͝͝͝ͅt̴̙̤̍̎̄̕

Quiet…

q̵̡̮̮̯̖̦͔̪̈́́̈́̋̏̕u̸̘̩̺̟̤͋͗̕͝i̵͙͇͉̒̎̎̓́́͝ȩ̴̧̡̹̩͕͔͚̥̯̪̂̋̎̾͜͠t̶̡̪͒̏̇͐͌̊̚q̵͕͚͈̫̫̬͋͂̑̉̅̄͜ų̷̎̋̓̀͒͛͛̆ǐ̴͜e̸̡̟̫͙̣̰͗͛͋̍̔͜͜t̴̼̻̮̘̬͐͐̚͜q̷͈̞̞̣͋̇̽̈́̑̈̑̓̀͘͝ư̵̢̝̳̙̘̺̅͐̔ͅi̷̥̰̟̺̻̹͊̈́͂̇̄̈́̇́e̸̯̝̻͇̖̿̉͒̾͐̚̚t̵͍͔̎̒̎͋̈͒̀͘͘͝b̶̟͕͕̗̙͚̗͙̆͒̌̋̈́͑͛̀̋̒ę̵̛̩̝̬̗̻̿̿̋̔͛̿̇ͅš̶̫̞̙ẗ̸͎́͂͋́͗͝i̴̱̯̋l̷̫̰͍͉͙̯̖̼̺̝͖̺͑̾́l̶̜̪͚̞̍͋̔͆͗̈̂̓̌̔̚͝b̴̧͎̠̪͇͓̦͓͓̖̩̰̍̃̏̋̈́̃͝͝e̶͎͕͛ͅq̴̨͕͎͐͒̌̓̂͛͐u̷͚̔̅i̵̧̟̺̩̫̗̾̊̍̌͘e̷͇̜̤̟͖̝̜͛̓͗ṫ̶̰̥̲̥̥̥͓̬͖̹̇

Quiet…

q̵͈̬̬̽̓̔̇̓u̴̫͋i̶̝̮͒͘e̷̜͐t̴̡̪̬̜̺̉̈́̄͘̕q̶̩̯̮͌̒͊̽̕u̷̡̝͊͌̀̈́i̷̧̮̖̥̇̇ę̵͇͙̍̒̎̚t̶͈̽̀̎̂̀q̸̫̇̎u̸̼͛͘͝i̴͉͍̾̍͑̚e̴̗̣̭̖͓͛͊t̶̡̧̮̗͈̎́b̴̢̲̠̬́͒͂̄̍e̷̡̟̺̯͌̐̚͜s̷̙̞͗̋͜t̸̻̲̹̝͋̑̉͝ͅi̵̳̘͚̊̓̅͜l̵͔̣̦̋l̶̡͊̍͋b̷̨̞̭͇̈e̸͍̦͕͉̽̀͘͜͝q̷̢̮͖̤̼͂ŭ̷̬͔͋͆͌í̷̖͙̯̣͔e̸̡̝̹̖̭͝t̸̥̳͎̫͇̽̎̈́

Quiet…

…

…

…

"Hey."

My eyes open as the screaming recedes. He's kneeling in front of me, furrowed brow slick with sweat, a thin trail of blood oozing from the side of his head where my knuckles broke skin. His shoulders tremble - he looks sick.

"You with me now?"

He watches me with caution; red eyes glowing faintly in the dark emergency lights of the lab. His hands are splayed over my knees, fingers tightening as he waits for a response. I blink at him and wonder how much time has passed.

"...Zim?"

I can't find the will to speak, so I push him back and stand on legs that feel like splintered wood. My body hurts. What was I thinking about before the noise began?

I turn away from him and rub my face, and the note comes back into view.

Gears tick and whir. A list - I need a list. Supplies and fuel. Search the wreckage - find whatever hasn't been destroyed, salvage the parts, check the impl–

He grabs my forearm and shatters the progress I was just beginning to make. I spin too fast, too fierce, teeth bare.

"What?" The word comes up so sharp, it hurts the tissues in my throat. He pulls his hand away and looks lost.

"I'm, um… I'm sorry for…" His nose creases and he frowns. "What do you need?"

"I need you to shut up." My tongue is a blade; the tinge of regret splits to ribbons beneath its edge. "Stay over here - don't touch anything, don't do anything."

Defiance blooms like storm cells in his eyes. I stare back at him, relentless, and his gaze flickers at the space around me. I try to follow, but nothing's there. He blinks and looks away. Tension pinches his shoulders tight as he offers the briefest nod.

"Okay."

He doesn't fight like I expect him to. Instead, he moves against the closest wall and folds his arms over his chest, quiet and resigned. My antennae twitch - his eyes scan the air as confusion and concern darken his features.

My skin bristles. "What are you looking at?"

He focuses back on my face. "Nothing."

I scowl. He's lying - even though it is nothing, he's lying. I turn away with a low hiss and attempt to reorient the tasks in my brain. Pacing through the remnants of my workspace - my home, my life - I mutter to myself and push back against the wall of rage that threatens my circuitry.

For once, Dib does as he's told and stays put, but I can feel his red eyes following my every move. Whatever it is he's seeing, it keeps him distracted - he doesn't even talk.

I lower my head and focus. Every electrical component is destroyed beyond repair, so there's no point wasting time on the computer or my files. Glass and acrylic snap under my boots. The monitors are smashed, cables peeled bare, circuits fried. No buttons or sensors respond to my touch. Everything is cold. Useless.

A sinking realization settles in the further I go: there really is nothing left. The only solace is that I have not stumbled upon GIR - pieces of him or otherwise. He wasn't upstairs, and he's not down here; I can only hope he's with her.

I move to the back corner and the hot lick of rage stings my throat. They didn't touch my fuel reserves or the charging port. The crates of travel supplies have been dug through but left intact.

My claws pinch together. On the note, there were coordinates. Symbols I didn't recognize from a place I've never been.

SEE YOU SOON.

They want me to follow.

I grit my teeth. Why? What's the point of this? Why not simply wait and ambush me here? What sort of game are they playing?

My skull aches. I lean against the wall and press the air from my body in an effort to keep the noise at bay. The rippling sensation of confusion, fear, and agonizing rage moves like needles in my flesh. I don't understand - I don't understand–

I slam one of the discarded lids onto the nearest open crate and stalk back through the carnage of the lab. Dib hasn't budged except to sit on the ground. His puffy, wet eyes glisten in the gloomy red light. He blinks up at me as I approach, searching me for answers I don't have, answers I won't give, but he doesn't voice any of the questions. Instead, he stands to his feet and holds out the box from earlier.

"She got this for you," he says, voice rough and weak. I stop in front of him and glare. His bleary gaze is filled with too many things. "Take it."

My hands grip the flimsy cardboard and his expression shifts as if I've relieved his bones of some invisible weight.

"I'll wait in the Voot." He turns away, and I hiss, reaching for his shoulder.

"You're not going, Dib–"

He whips around with unnatural speed and I step back, quickly retracting my hand. His lip curls up over sharp, white teeth, eyes flashing with a ferocity I know I would not survive - an animalistic warning so primal, it reaches through time and freezes me to the floor in instinctual fear.

" I'll wait in the Voot," he repeats, almost daring me to argue. I clench my jaw shut, and he holds my gaze a moment longer, as if to ensure my hindbrain has received the message.

"Fine," I growl.

Stupid beast.

Content with whatever submission he thinks he managed to draw from me, he steps into the elevator, vanishing behind the heavy doors. I glare after him. The anger rises in tune with the sudden, foreign pang. I drop my head and stare at the small box in my hands. The ache floats between my air sacs as I reluctantly slice through the thin, clear tape with my claw and pop the lid open.

A crinkled note rests on top of the tissue paper. The handwriting is bad enough for me to know she did it on purpose.

SO YOU DON'T LOOK STUPID NEXT TIME YOU SLEEP OVER

-pig sister

I peel back the paper, and the ache swells until it fills every inch of my frame.

Neatly folded inside is a set of purple pajamas.

.

.

[Dib]

Zim takes a long time. I don't know what he's doing, but I know any attempt at offering help will be swiftly refused, and the swarm of static pulsing from his body was becoming too much to handle.

I stare at my hands, searching for cuts that aren't there, but I feel them nonetheless. His emotions tore through me like poison darts - a barrage of bullets dipped in snake venom, seeping toxins into my marrow. My shoulders tremble at the recollection, and the ghost of stinging pain lingers all around.

What was that?

I lean back in my seat and stare at the shiny, featureless ceiling of the Voot. Night wanes on, a thin, cool breeze rustling the foliage beyond the rickety fence. The longer I wait, the more numb I feel. None of this seems like reality, but no matter how hard I try, I don't wake up.

I bury my face in my hands and press a wavering breath between my teeth as the memory of this morning burns bright and hot behind my eyes. How is it possible for the world to shift so quickly? How did we go from arguing to hugging to… this?

Like everything else in my life, I know it's my fault. I sent her here - I sent her here knowing Zim was gone, and then I was stupid enough to get caught and held in mock jail for hours and hours, while she was here, alone.

It's difficult to stop my mind from wandering to the darkest corners. The blood on the knife leaves very little to the imagination. I know she's hurt, but how hurt? How long do we have? How far away are they now? What the fuck do they want –

The sound of Zim's boots clicking up the ramp yanks me from the torment. I sit up, wiping the warmth from my cheeks in a useless attempt to seem put together.

He's carrying an unmarked crate in his arms. Dark eyes fall on mine and he clears his throat.

"I could use assistance loading the reserves." The surrounding static is quieter now, but just as dense. "The other crates are stacked by the door."

Without a word, I get up, shuffling past him and into the house. I don't bother asking what's inside; I simply move on autopilot, loading the Voot until the cargo space is packed full.

"Is that everything?" I ask, voice low.

He stands in the small remaining space in the center, tired eyes roaming listlessly over the boxes, then back to the dark silhouette of the house.

"Yes." He doesn't meet my gaze. "Is there anything you require from your home–"

"No," I cut him off. "I just want to go already."

He hesitates. The static prickles, but I don't feel like explaining how going back to an empty house and being surrounded by her things will absolutely gut me.

"This isn't one of your silly adventure games, Dib." His tone curves with a familiar blade. "Space travel is not to be taken lightly–"

"I don't need anything," I press angrily before an uneasy grimace twists my face. "Except…"

He gestures to one of the crates. "The remaining storage of fluid is in there." He settles into the driver's seat and sighs. "I don't believe we can prepare enough for the trip, so in the likely event you run out, you can use mine."

My heart skips and the urge to argue burns the tip of my tongue.

"Zim," I start, "that's not–"

"Not up for debate," he bites. "Sit down and secure yourself before I change my mind about bringing you along."

Stripped of all other options, I do as I'm told. I tuck my body into the seat and quickly adjust the harness over my torso, pulling my knees to my chest, and focusing on keeping the memories and fears at bay. Zim's animated static is unsettling enough - I don't need to add my own spiraling emotions to the mix. There's no room in here for anything but silence and reservation.

The ramp lifts and seals shut. He says nothing while he configures the controls and sets our course. The ground beneath us slowly fades as the quiet town grows smaller and smaller; hazy lights flickering and dimming in the distance.

I watch the sky change colors in a lazy gradient. We rise higher and higher, passing mountains of clouds as we transition from one layer of the atmosphere to the next. Condensation forms and cools in crystalized swirls along the windshield. The weight of this moment solidifies in my gut. I've never been this high up. I've never been in space –

The engine's frequency suddenly warps to a low roar, and the ship jolts up. My pulse quickens, stomach dipping, hands scrambling for the arms of my chair.

"Relax," Zim chides, drawing a lever forward. "We're preparing to leave orbit." He side-eyes me and sneers. "Don't lose your stomach fluid in my ship."

"Orbit?" I ask nervously. "It's only been a few minutes–"

He presses a button, and the sky vanishes in a white beam of light. My body slams backward, teeth clattering, bones reduced to gelatin beneath the force of our ascent. The air sticks to all sides of my lungs, useless and stale. I clamp my eyes shut and dig my nails into the hard leather, desperately waiting for the sensation to end. It takes an eternity, and I feel my body peel away in thin layers that vibrate in tune with the propulsion system.

Within an instant, the Voot stabilizes with incredulous ease, as if nothing happened at all. I let out a shaky breath, my equilibrium sluggishly recalculating. When my eyes open, it's strangely bright.

"You look stupid," Zim mutters. I shake my head and struggle to reorient myself.

"It's…it's really bright," I groan.

He scoffs. "Obviously. The sun is right there."

"'Right there' is not how I'd describe something that's 92 million miles away."

" Tch ." His claws tap a few buttons and the windshield darkens slightly. "Is that better for your feeble eyes, stink-meat?"

I shoot him a glare. "I just meant I didn't expect it to look like that. I thought it'd be…you know." I shrug. "Dark."

He rolls his eyes. "In some places, but not most. There is no atmosphere to filter the light."

I hum absently as I adjust in my seat. The darkened tint does help, but there is something eerily upsetting to the stark, blinding glare surrounding us. I feel like there is nowhere to hide - and in the vast endlessness of space, the notion is horrifically baffling.

"So," I mutter after a long beat of silence, "it's just this?"

"Mostly, yes."

"...For how long?"

He arches a brow and glances at me. "Are you asking me how long space is, Dib?"

"No." I groan and fold my arms. "How long is it to…wherever we need to go?"

He frowns and turns away. The cloud of static rolls slightly over his shoulders before pooling below his feet.

"Approximately six days to our first stop," he says, flat. "From there, I'm estimating another thirteen–"

"Wait, wait." I straighten, swiveling my chair to face him. "Our first stop? Why are we stopping more than once?"

Spikes form in the black cloud. His eyes narrow. "I need a few things."

"We don't have time to run fucking errands, Zim!" Frantic anger bristles beneath my skin. "We have to get her–"

The sentence clips in my throat when the static pulses and swells against his side of the Voot.

"You're not thinking clearly, meatworm," he hisses. "We have very little supplies and even less information. If we stumble blindly into this, we risk her life and ours."

The helplessness is cold. It spills from the nape of my neck, crystalizing the blood in my veins.

"But–"

"No." He lifts his head defiantly, baring teeth as the dark warps around him. The memory of it splicing my body is enough to make me shrink back. "You may have invited yourself on this mission, but you are not in charge, Dib - and if you so much as breathe in the wrong direction, I will…" He hesitates, the light in his eyes changing before he glances behind him. The breath catches in my lungs; I keep my gaze fixed on the rattling spikes as he turns back to me and snarls.

" What do you keep looking at?!"

I scoff in disbelief. "Y-you don't see it?"

Hot rage steams him through. "See what, Dib?" He whips around again. "There's nothing here! You keep staring off into space!"

I open my mouth, but I have no idea what to say. It all sounds crazy, and he's already pissed. If he gets any angrier, I'll have nowhere to hide–

"Dib," he hisses, clenching his jaw. "This is no time for games."

I struggle to swallow past the rapidly forming lump in my throat. "I-I'm not messing with you, Zim, I swear–"

"Then what are you doing?"

He's leaning out of his seat now, claws dug deep into the arms of the chair, testing the hard leather. The cloud moves with him, poised to strike; a thousand needles made of glass.

"I don't know," I ramble. "I told you, your stupid alien blood did something to me, and I don't know what the fuck is happening!" I'm pressed as far back as I can manage. The fuzzy edges graze my forearms and I frantically wipe at the skin, even though I know it's not real. A nervous breath escapes me, sharp and thin. "C-can you just calm down for a second?"

His eyes widen for a brief moment before snapping back into pinched, red crescents. Whatever retort broils behind his teeth, he holds it in, glaring as he slowly settles in his chair.

"I'm…trying." He releases a quiet breath, and the static recedes a few inches. "But you still need to talk."

I rub my eyes - an instinctive, yet futile response. "I don't know how to explain it."

"You have time. Figure it out."

I grimace, averting my gaze to the dashboard. He's oddly patient while he waits for me to gather what few bearings I have left.

"The air around you is…distorted," I mutter. "It gets worse when you're mad, or scared, or…whatever happened in the lab."

His antennae prick high over his head and he scowls. "Nothing happened in the lab."

"...Are you serious?" I glance at him, brow furrowed. "It felt like you were imploding, Zim–"

"It was nothing." The static sharpens with his tone. He catches the shift in my expression and quickly looks away, breathing deep. "...Zim is fine."

"It wasn't nothing," I growl. "But…whatever. I'm just saying that I can see and feel your emotions - or the residuals of them, anyway. It's fucking weird."

He glowers, but the rage isn't thick enough to hide the curiosity in his eyes. "...When did this start?"

I shrug and chew on my lip. "In the air ducts, I think. That's when I noticed it. It's not constant, though."

He hums. "And what does it look like?"

"Static," I answer simply. "Little black dots."

Confusion twists his face and I sigh.

"I told you, I have no idea what it is, but it fucking hurts when it touches me, so keep it over there."

He blinks. "It…physically pains you?"

"Yeah." I rub my arms. "Like a bunch of bee stings–"

A loud hiss escapes him and I roll my eyes.

"– Wasps, whatever." I slump in my chair. "...You've really gotta get over the whole bee thing. There are a million other worse creatures on Earth, you know."

He swats his hand through the air with a huff. "Your stupid meat brain must be malfunctioning. This…static you've described is unfamiliar. And ridiculous."

"Well, it's there. Don't know what else to tell you."

He grumbles to himself, but despite his antics, the dark cloud has grown considerably smaller, hovering close to his frame. He flexes his claws over the control panel and exhales.

"I don't understand what your gooey eyes are showing you," he mutters, "but I will attempt to keep…whatever it is contained."

"Thanks." I cross my arms again and glare out the window. Silence stretches between us, filling the Voot with muted tension while the heavier feelings settle in a chilled pool at our feet. I sort through the crumbling trains of thought floating in pieces behind my eyes. Just hours ago, I had so many questions - so many things to say - and now, it all seems…pointless. The cold encases my lungs, adding to the weight.

"Zim," I whisper, staring at the harsh streaks of light spanning the galaxy beyond, "she's still alive…right?"

He doesn't answer, and I only grow colder. The muscles in my jaw pinch and pull as I wait for some semblance of reassurance. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out softer than I've ever heard it.

"Yes." He pauses, eyes shiny and full as he trains his gaze on the distant stars. "They want us to follow, which means they'll keep her alive."

The logic does very little to soothe the throbbing ache in my chest.

"Who are they?" I ask quietly. He frowns.

"I…don't know."

A wet sting runs through my eyes. I pull my bottom lip under my teeth and bite down until it hurts. The breath wavers between my diaphragm and throat, uncertain, unstable. I struggle to control the undulating swell, but the weight falters when he nudges my foot with the toe of his boot. I blink and glance at him.

"Your sister is capable, Dib," he murmurs, avoiding eye contact. "And she isn't alone - GIR will protect her."

"I'm her brother." The memory of this morning plays over and over; her reluctantly leaning into my hug, pressing tear-stained cheeks against my shirt while I held her close and apologized for being such a dumbass. I sniff and wipe my nose. " I'm supposed to be the one protecting her."

"We will get her back." His gaze briefly flickers my way. "I promise."

All I can manage to do is nod. He leaves his foot next to mine, and the silence returns.

.

.

.

We drift for hours. Despite knowing that we are, in fact, moving, the ship is entirely still. There's no lurch or dip to indicate acceleration or turns, and the view outside the window is routinely filled with nothing but the bright white light of the sun and nearby stars. Nothing twinkles or glistens - there's no shadowed void - and no matter how many hours pass, it looks like broad daylight.

It's obvious I'm not prepared for all of this, but the hardest thing to shake is how unnerved the silent, stark reality of space makes me feel - exposed and yet despairingly alone.

I keep my face buried in the crook of my arms, hunched over the dashboard in a futile pursuit of sleep. Zim says nothing, focused solely on the bleeping screens of alien symbols and coordinates that blink to his left. I gave up trying to decipher them a while ago.

In the hollow quiet, my brain continues to do stupid shit, like drawing up lists of supplies I probably should have grabbed or at least looked at before we launched into fucking space. Some extra clothes would have been nice. Or, like, my toothbrush.

I thump my head against my forearm. "Do you seriously travel in complete silence like this?" I ask, my voice rough with exhaustion. "How do you not go insane?"

His antennae lift slightly and he blinks as if he's just noticed my presence.

"Eh? Oh." He shrugs and purses his lips, finally registering my question. "It's not typically this quiet. GIR sings for hours on end while I ignore him."

I grimace. "That sounds awful."

He smiles faintly. "It is."

"Well, I'm not gonna sing for you," I sneer. "Does your ship have some kind of weird alien radio?"

He sticks out his tongue. "As if Zim would ever make such an abhorrent request - but, yes, there is radio. It won't work until we exit your star system, however. The signal does not reach to the more…primitive portions of the universe."

"Figures." A tired groan deflates my chest. "Which box has the blood packs?"

He turns to me and frowns. "You're hungry already?"

"'Already'?" I glare. "I haven't eaten since this morning - you know, because we were detained all fucking day. But also, I'm bored, and it helps me sleep."

His eyes glint as he no doubt weighs the pros and cons of getting me to shut up for an undetermined length of time.

"Fine. The second crate toward the back."

I unbuckle my harness and crawl over the pile of supplies, wincing as the edges poke my ribs. Zim watches in mild amusement while I finagle my way through the cramped space.

"Just one," he chides. "Since you've decided to be difficult about accepting my offer, you'll have to ration your supply."

I grumble, finally reaching the crate and popping the lid free. The inside of the metal is crisp and cold. It's hard to tell how many bags line the insulated space, but if we're really going to be out here for weeks, it's obvious this won't be enough. I blink back the twinge of fear, tucking it away for later.

Little flakes of ice break off as I grab the nearest pack and seal the box. Scrambling over the cargo, I shimmy back into my seat and tear the thin plastic with my incisor, acutely aware of Zim's gaze resting heavily on my face. He stares the entire time I sip at the coagulated blood, and when the foul, bitter taste trails down my throat, I can't mask the disgust.

He snorts, ever so entertained by my discomfort. "Is it truly that bad now?"

"Yes." I shoot him a pointed glare. "I told you it was gross."

"You exaggerate a lot, like a whiny smeet." He gives me the side-eye. "My offer stands, in any regard. If it makes you cease with the dramatics, I couldn't care less."

I blink at him. "What?"

"Are your ears full of cheese, Dib? Why must I always repeat myself with you–"

"Zim, I had your blood one time and now I'm seeing your goddamn thoughts - I don't wanna know what'll happen to me if I drink more of it."

"Fine!" He curls his lip. "Suffer with your putrid juice, then."

"I will!" My teeth graze the sticky plastic and I pull my knees onto my chair. He huffs and goes back to monitoring the screen, but I know he's still passing glances my way as I slowly empty the pack, and it makes my ears burn. I won't have much of a choice when the rations run out, but taking more of his blood will be an absolute last resort. I'm already crazy enough as it is.

Still, his uncharacteristic willingness sets me on edge and does little to quell my previous suspicions about brainwashing. He did seem genuinely surprised to learn I could see…whatever that shit is, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him doing something like this on purpose. However our relationship may have changed over the past few weeks, I'd be an idiot to let my guard down completely.

I toss the empty pouch to the side and slump back in my chair.

"Don't throw your garbage on the floor of my ship," he grumbles.

I close my eyes and get as comfortable as possible in the stiff seat. "Do you have a trash can?"

"No."

"Well." I shrug.

The sound of a PAK leg extending pricks my ears, but I ignore him as he grabs the crinkling plastic and shoves it somewhere indiscernible.

He says something that barely registers as an insult beneath the quiet, steady bloom of shadow that blankets my thoughts. I merely groan in response, focused on pushing my consciousness into the approaching, thrumming darkness. The wave swells up to meet me, and I greet it with open arms, sighing in a relief so full, it aches as I slip into the waters of the deep.

…

…

…

My nose smashes against something hard and I jolt awake, gasping as the red leaves my lungs. The dim lights that line the cargo space of the Voot quickly materialize in my vision.

I'm halfway out of my chair with my face pressed into the floor. Flailing awkwardly, I sit up, panting and wiping layers of sweat from my brow as I scramble to gather my bearings.

Zim's chair is swiveled toward me, his eyes are wide and locked on mine. Heat flushes through my skin.

"What?" I ask, voice raw.

He blinks and tilts his chin. "What…was that?"

"Nothing." I clear my throat and rub the grime from my eyes. "Just…dreaming."

"Dreaming?" He sits up, scanning my sweaty frame. "That did not sound like dreaming, Dib."

"Nightmares, whatever." I pull my knees to my chest as if I could possibly hide from him here. "It just happens sometimes."

He's quiet for a moment, and the uncomfortable warmth spreads. This ship is too small.

"You were saying my name," he mutters.

I grimace and tuck my body closer. "Sorry."

Irritation seeps from him. "Why were you saying my name?"

No part of me wants to continue this discussion. I curse inwardly - I really didn't think any of this through. When it becomes clear there's no evading his question, I release a wavering sigh and press my forehead between my knees.

"They're just dreams of…when we were in the cave. Sometimes the memory plays while I'm asleep, and I see you…you know, dying." Even with my vision obstructed, the weight of his gaze bores through me like hot iron. "But I don't reach you in time."

"That's not what happened, though. You did reach me in time."

I scoff. "Nightmares aren't perfect memories, Zim. They're just a bunch of wires crossing in our sleep - they could be anything, real or imagined."

He hums faintly to himself. I'm focused on squeezing my temples with the boney nubs of my knees when my chair suddenly jerks from its place as he pulls it next to his. I unfold my arms, poking my head up with wide, suspicious eyes.

"What're you–"

"You can sleep here," he says, glancing out the window to avoid my stare. "That way, you're close enough for me to smack you if you start making more weird noises."

Our shoulders are inches apart, separately only by the low arms of the seats. Prickling heat snakes down my neck.

"Uh…thanks."

His only response is a muffled hmmph . My eyes trail along his side of the control panel while I try to figure out the safest spot to put my arms. Satisfied with a portion that looks like it'll cause the least interruption, I slouch forward, folding my elbows and smushing my cheek into the crook of my forearms.

It's too weird to face his direction, so I shift and look the other way - but that feels weird too. I'm in the middle of restlessly squirming for comfort that doesn't exist when he clears his throat.

"What movie were you going to pick?"

I pop open one eye - he hasn't moved from his stiff position, his gaze locked on the monitor.

"Oh." God, that feels like a lifetime ago. "Um, Interstellar."

He hums, feigning disinterest. "Sounds stupid."

"I like it." I sit up in my seat and push a heavy breath from my lungs. "I was curious to hear what you thought of the mechanics and astrophysics. You know, like how accurate it was."

A faint grin tugs my lips, but it hurts all the same. I was hoping to see him throw popcorn at the screen and yell something about how humans get everything wrong.

Another time, maybe.

As if to echo the sentiment, he taps his claws on the dashboard and mutters, "Perhaps when we return."

The pang in my gut lifts and changes to another unfamiliar, yet equally uncomfortable shape.

"Yeah." I avoid looking in his direction and quietly lay my head back down in my arms. "That sounds nice."

.

.

.

Ka-thunk.

Ka-thunk.

Ka-thunk.

"Dib," Zim hisses, jaw clenched. "Please stop."

Ka-thunk.

He whirls around. "Dib!"

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I catch the blue rubber ball and squish it between my palms. He glares down at me, pointed teeth glinting in the light of the surrounding stars.

"Where did you get that?" he growls.

"Found it in the cargo space." I bounce it again and his eye twitches. "I assumed it belonged to GIR."

He curses under his breath. "That robot…"

"You didn't answer my question, you know." I roll it over my fingers and stare at him impatiently.

"What question?" he groans.

"The one I just asked."

Ka-thunk.

A loud hiss erupts from his throat and he flexes his claws. "I'm having trouble discerning your actual verbal prompts from all the other useless noise you make." When I raise my arm, he flashes his teeth. "Do that again and I won't speak to you until we land."

"...Fine." I shove the ball in my pocket and slump against the smooth curve of the wall. "I asked you if you figured out what those things were. The vampires."

"They weren't vampires - they were alien parasites." His tiny nostrils flare as he settles back in his seat, antennae flat against his skull. "A very old species - most life forms have become resistant. But Earth is rather new, so your kind has not yet built up an immunity."

I frown. "Did all vampiric myths originate from them, then?"

He shrugs. "I don't know what you beasts come up with. But the creatures do not do well in Earth's environment. I can't imagine there are too many."

"Huh." I squint, pursing my lips as the information swirls through my brain. "So…this means… I'm an alien now."

His antennae lift slightly. "Everything is an alien, Dib. Humans are aliens to other aliens. The word is meaningless."

"Okay, but I meant I'm not…human anymore."

"You knew that already."

My frown deepens, pinching my brows. Somehow, it was easier to accept the whole vampire thing when I thought they were just Earthbound monsters. "Yeah…I guess."

He sighs, sensing my confusion. "You're human enough, stink-meat."

"Hm." I fiddle with the rubber ball in my pocket. "I'm not going to end up like those things…right?"

His eyes fall on mine, a little softer. "No. You stopped the parasite from attaching to your body when you ripped it out."

My throat aches with the memory and I lift a hand to my chest, absently grazing my clavicle as the sound of it snapping echoes through my mind.

"Oh," I whisper. "Good. I was kinda worried about that."

"You can rest your big head, Dib," he muses. "I don't believe your body will mutate any further. It seems my blood caused your DNA to adopt a few Irken traits, but beyond that, your genetic code has not shifted." He pauses and averts his gaze. "I'll know for sure once we have access to the proper equipment."

The image of the lab flashes behind my eyes, and a dull ache runs up my ribcage. Even after all of this is over and Gaz and GIR are home safe, it'll take a long time to repair the damage.

Desperate to escape the current contents of my thoughts, I fish the ball from my coat. I don't even get to throw it before Zim pushes out of his seat and stands over me.

"Give me the ball, Dib," he orders, "or I'm ejecting you into space."

I scowl and reluctantly drop the toy in his palm.

"You're no fun."

.

.

The view outside has slowly shifted from blinding white beams to distant swaths of orange and blue. It's still uncomfortably bright, but the colors are a pleasant change. I stretch my arms high over my head and groan as my spine cracks and pops.

"You know what I just realized?" I muse, staring at the ceiling. "There's no bathroom in here."

"Impressive," he scoffs. "It only took you 52 hours to make this observation."

Jesus fucking Christ, it's been 52 hours?

"...Do you need one?" he eventually asks, tilting his head.

"No, but I didn't even think about it."

"This is not news to Zim," he snorts. "You rarely think."

"Did you think about it?"

"Obviously." He rolls his eyes. "But your body is less stupid now. Congratulations on evolving to the point of utilizing your nutrients without creating waste."

I crinkle my nose in disgust. "You word everything in the worst way, Zim."

"I word things accurately, Dib," he retorts. "Most species do not require filthy bathrooms anyway. Humans are just disgustingly useless and primitive."

"I'm just saying, a shower would be nice," I mutter. While I'm eternally grateful for the more efficient adaptations, my body still produces sweat, and I'm starting to feel pretty gross. The complete lack of privacy certainly doesn't help. "Where are we going?"

"Xindiphys."

Sparing myself the embarrassment, I decide against trying to repeat the word.

"What're we gonna do when we get there?"

He laughs. "You won't be doing anything. You'll remain in the Voot while I gather supplies."

"Are you serious?" I ask, slapping my palms on the dashboard. "You expect me to stay here, after six fucking days?"

"I don't expect you to do anything," he growls. "I know you'll do it because I said so, and because if you don't, then I'll…" He trails off and narrows his eyes. "I don't know, hurt you or something." His hand swats idly. "I'll come up with a better threat by then."

An incredulous groan deflates my chest. "Zim, I'm not staying in here once we land. Did you consider I might actually want to see what life looks like on another planet?"

He sneers and leans into my personal bubble. "I did consider this, stink-meat, and it's all the more reason to ensure you stay put."

I scowl and push him back in his seat. He rolls his eyes.

"You attract danger every second of your pitiful, waking moments, Dib. I do not want to know how much trouble you're capable of causing, especially on Xindiphys."

"What's so special about this place?" I grumble.

He sighs and straightens his shoulders. "It's one of the few unclaimed planets on this side of the galaxy. There are no official authority structures or laws beyond what the inhabits deem necessary at any given point in time."

"Huh." I cross my arms and stare at the electric blue nebula sprawled in the distance. "Like an anarchist society? Why risk going to a place like that?"

"The lack of rule draws hundreds of thousands from across the universe. Countless species, all with diverse trades, skills, and resources." He shrugs. "You can find anything you need there, and since most inhabitants are avoiding warrants elsewhere, you're mostly left alone, so long as you keep to yourself. Which is why you, of all people, should not step foot inside the city."

I purse my lips, but I can't really argue. I'm not sure how confident I am in my ability to stay out of trouble in a space full of galactic felons.

"...Fine," I mutter. "But is it possible to land somewhere isolated? At least so I can sit outside the Voot. I'm gonna need to stretch my legs and look at something besides this stupid dashboard, or I'll go nuts."

"Obviously, we'll set up our lodgings," he grumbles. "But you will not accompany me within the market."

"Sure, whatever." I glare at the control panel. "What supplies are you looking for?"

"Nothing your puny sponge brain could understand."

"Have I mentioned you're literally the worst person to be stuck with for this long?"

"Probably," he drones. "But I typically ignore you when you speak, so I can't say for sure."

I spin my chair away from him. "Asshole."

.

.

.

By the fourth day, I'm ready to smash my head through the window and let the vacuum of space asphyxiate me.

"I don't understand how you do this." Forgoing the passenger seat that I now despise with every ounce of my being, I've taken to laying in awkward positions in the cargo space just to feel something different. I thump my hands rhythmically along the side of the crate that I'm currently flopped over. "I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

Zim does that thing again where he blinks and shakes his head, as if he's just now waking up. He turns his chair to face me and arches a brow.

"What're you doing?" he asks.

"What're you doing?" I sit up and glare. "Are you sleeping with your eyes open or something?"

"No, idiot. Zim is merely quieting the organic brain matter." He rolls his eyes like that's information I should already know.

I squint. "You're…turning off your brain?"

"Ugh, so primitive," he grumbles. "Our PAKs operate outside of what you humans would refer to as 'consciousness.' Space travel is often long and dreadful - this allows us to maintain our function and complete tasks without, as you said, 'losing our minds.'"

"So you're sleeping," I deadpan. "That's fucking sleeping, Zim."

He groans. "It is not the same thing–"

"You're flying the ship while you're sleeping."

"You babbling smeet," he hisses, "what are you even doing back there? You should be seated with your safety harness on, Dib–"

"I've been back here for hours!" I snap. "You'd have known that if you weren't sleeping, Zim."

The faint remnants of static flit around his shoulders, but he's too tired for it to really go anywhere. "Irk," he growls, "why are you being so difficult?"

"Because I'm bored!" I yell. "And I don't have a second computer brain to take over while the rest of me gets to check out!"

He swears loudly in Irken and smacks a featureless compartment to the left of his chair. A small rectangle appears as it pops open, and he digs around for a moment before pulling out a white cylinder the size of his fist.

"What's that?" I lean forward, scrunching my nose.

"A sleeping aid." He glances at the monitor. "I use it for GIR on long flights when he starts acting out, like you're doing right now."

"You drug GIR?"

"On occasion." He extends his arm to hand me the tube and I push it away.

"I'm not taking your alien drugs, Zim. Do you think I'm stupid?"

His brow raises. "...Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Put it away," I snap.

"It's not a requirement, dummy." He rolls his eyes. "I'm attempting to help you sleep without your… dreams." Sarcasm drips from the word and I scowl.

"Fuck you." I lie back on the pokey edges of the crates and fold my arms behind my head. "You can turn your brain off now, or whatever you want to call it."

"I would love to, Dib," he snaps, "but you seem determined to continue your impish behaviors, and it's very distracting. Even when you fall asleep, you make noise!"

I squint, curling my lip. "I do not–"

"Yes, you do! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to focus on piloting the Voot while you reenact your near-death experiences two feet away? I'll answer that for you - it's very difficult, Dib!"

"I can't control what my brain does while I'm asleep, jackass–"

"Well forgive me for not wanting to endure the sound of you whimpering like an injured dog every five seconds," he sneers. "And why on Irk do you move so much? Are you running fake marathons and repeatedly losing–"

Whatever thread that remains of my sanity snaps.

"You know what? Fine!"

I roll forward and snatch the tube from his hand. Before he can say anything smart, I pluck one of the thin sticks from the bunch and rip it open, dumping the light blue powder onto my tongue and swallowing with a wad of spit.

"There! Are you happy noww-wow. " I suck my lips between my teeth and grimace at the sudden burst of tart flavor, like a dozen lemons popping in my mouth. "That's - mhnn," I smack my tongue, "kinda intense."

" Dib! " Zim slaps the tube from my hand, spilling the remaining sticks all over the floor. His eyes are wide, expression drawn taut.

"What?" I wince at the tail-end of sour sparks prickling my taste buds. "I took the stupid medicine–"

"You weren't supposed to eat an entire stick!" His voice is strained. "I split them up for GIR - I've never given him a whole one before!"

My face pales. The world tilts in a cold flush of dread.

"...What?" Panic spills beneath my flesh, rippling goosebumps, pulse thrumming heavy and thick between my ears. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Why did you take one without asking?!" he shoots back. The shrill tone only fuels the ice pooling in my gut.

"Fuck," I gasp, quickly rolling off of the crates. My feet are buzzing. "I thought - I didn't - fuck–"

He jumps out of his seat and pushes me toward mine.

"Sit down," he snaps. "You'll be fine - it just may be a little unpleasant–"

"I'm gonna fucking die–"

"You are not." His claws pinch my arms. "Stop whining, sit down –"

He shoves me into the chair and as it swivels, my vision smears like paint. I lose feeling in my tongue, and the little stabby sensation of approaching numbness seeps up my fingers and toes.

Oh my god, I'm gonna die here on this stupid ship–

"Take deep breaths, Dib–"

My lungs are gonna shut down - complete respiratory failure - I'm gonna choke on my own saliva and turn blue and be stuck here forever–

"This way - no, no, not forward, lean back, you pathetic creature–"

Everything melts together in a splotchy mess of warping shapes and colors. He's saying something - shaking me, I think - but my nerves pop and fizzle, and I can't control anything anymore. My consciousness dissolves into the sudden heavy shadow.

.

.

.

[Zim]

"Hold still," I hiss, grabbing his face. "I need to check your pupils–"

He groans and slumps forward, spilling out of his chair like a drunken ape. I barely manage to catch him before he hits the floor.

"You idiot." I kneel beside him and struggle to spread his eyelids as his head rolls uselessly between my hands. "Focus, Dib - look at me."

His only response is a strangled, airy noise. I tug him into my lap and lean over his face. He blinks rapidly, clenching his jaw and wrinkling his nose while I take great care to not poke out his eyes. His pupils are massive.

"You are the dumbest lifeform in the galaxy," I groan. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

I wince as his hand thumps against my shoulder, fingers curling aimlessly toward my neck. Whatever he's trying to accomplish, he's far too gone, and his arm slides down over my abdomen.

I roll my eyes and nudge him off my lap. "The effects will fade…eventually. Just sleep through it."

"No," he murmurs, speech slurring. His hands clutch at the fabric of my leggings. "Mhnn…s-stay."

"Zim has to pilot the ship, stink-head." I push him onto the floor and his arms fall limp at his sides. As I stagger to my feet and attempt to avoid tripping over his floppy limbs, the most pathetic whine escapes him.

"Zimmhnnm."

My antennae twitch. He's lying on his back, staring up at me; a delirious flush of pink stains his cheeks, pupils blown so wide, the red irises are a mere thin ring around the black. A strange, unsettling warmth blooms beneath my skin, and I grit my teeth.

"...Fine, you wretched meat bag. But I'm not sitting on the floor. Scoot this way for a second."

Unable to follow the most basic commands, I'm forced to shove him aside with my foot while I focus on removing the arms of our chairs. He continues muttering indiscernible nonsense under his breath. I manage to unhook the pieces and toss them behind the nearest crates.

"Can you stand?" I ask, already knowing the answer is a resounding no. He lies useless on the floor. It takes far too much effort, but eventually, he's situated across both seats; half of his body on his chair, and the other half flopped over my lap.

"That's as comfortable as you're going to get," I mutter, shifting under the odd weight of his head on my thighs. "I can't believe you'd… Well, actually, this is exactly something you'd do."

I make the mistake of looking down at him. Beneath the flutter of dark, thick lashes, his bleary eyes search my face with an intensity I don't know how to process. He reaches up, but his movements are heavy and drunk, and his hand flops uselessly over my thigh.

"Pretty," he murmurs. I flinch when his fingers trace the seam of my uniform, trailing behind my knee.

The foreign heat rushes up my chest. I grab his hand and force it back over his torso.

"Yes, yes," I roll my eyes. "Zim is very pretty. Go to sleep now, stupid boy."

"Mmmnnntired," he grumbles.

"That's the point."

He groans and nuzzles his face into the folds of my tunic.

I flick the black metal ring cuffing his upper ear. "Don't do that."

"Nngh." He either has no idea what I'm saying, or he's ignoring me, because he does it again, and his stupid fingers start tugging weakly at the hem of the fabric.

A low hiss rattles my throat. "Stop it, Dib."

He makes another weird noise, and the vibration prickles through my core. I've heard Dib make plenty of ridiculous human sounds over the years - his range is quite impressive - but this one triggers certain…things…in my organic brain that I'd rather not deal with at the moment. I rest my claws over his neck, feeling for the heavy pulse of his carotid and adjusting my grip to ensure his head stays still.

"I'm not opposed to smacking you, you know," I growl. "I don't care how incapacitated you are - keep your grubby beast hands to yourself."

He fumbles weakly for my wrist, but fails, and his arm slides over the edge and hangs limp. His pathetic attempts to twist out of my grip only last a few more minutes before his body succumbs to the sleeping aid.

My chest swells with relief when he begins to snore.

"Finally," I murmur. "You idiot monkey."

Grateful to return my focus to the monitor, I map out our remaining course and let the PAK overtake the majority of my functions. As the edges of my vision blur, I glance down once more to see him fast asleep and drooling all over my lap, his eyes peacefully closed, his messy hair swaying softly with every exhale that slips through his parted lips. I brush my claws through the dark, silky strands and move them away from his mouth. The odd pang resurfaces in my chest.

"You are far more manageable like this," I scoff, incredulous. "I should have drugged you days ago."

He continues to snore and drool in blissful ignorance. It's gross by all metrics…but it's not the worst, I suppose. I shake my head, keeping one hand along the curve of his neck while the other fiddles idly with the controls.

The rest of the flight passes in warm, uneventful silence.

.

.

[Dib]

When my eyes open, I'm sure I'm dead. Above me, a thousand tiny lights twinkle bright blue and green along the deep, fuzzy black ridges of the sky. Something cool and soft surrounds my body like a bed of clouds. I'm too stunned to feel pain or fear, but the trance-like state is quickly flushed down the drain when Zim's sharp, sneering tone pricks my ears.

"I was beginning to think you'd never wake up." He snickers to himself. "But I suppose I have never been that lucky."

"W-what..." I flinch at the sound of my voice, and even more so at the sensation of it drifting between my vocal cords. "What happened?"

"We've landed," he mutters. I try to pull my body up, and his hands grab my shoulders, pushing me gently until I'm slouched over my knees. It feels as if I've been dug out from a snow pile. I blink and wipe my eyes with heavy hands, grimacing.

"We've...landed?" I ask clumsily.

He skirts around me and crouches in front of my feet. The shiny red of his eyes stands in stark contrast to the ethereal night surrounding us. He reaches toward my face and clasps my chin between his claws, tilting my head slightly to the side.

"How do you feel?"

"Um." I rub my temples and take a deep breath. "Okay...I think. Kind of weird."

"Hm." He withdraws his hand and scans me. "You were asleep for a long time. I expect you'll feel back to normal within the hour. Here - drink."

He presses two chilled pouches against my palms, and I accept them without arguing, despite knowing how few are left.

The liquid tastes as disgusting as ever, but I stay quiet and drink them both, closing my eyes and trying to reconnect with my limbs.

I listen to him walk somewhere to my right. The sound of grass swishing fills my ears. I draw in slow, careful breaths, reorienting my senses. The air is cool and comfortably humid, and a soothing buzz emits from the distance.

Satisfied that I am, in fact, alive, I set the empty pouches aside, struggle to my feet, and glance around.

The Voot has been parked beneath the overhang of some sort of cavern. Dark vegetation covers the tall ceiling in thick blankets, and out from the tufts, thinner plants protrude with soft, flowered bulbs glowing faintly, like stars. Long grass sprawls beneath my feet with a muddy purple hue. I trail my gaze along the border of the cavern, and the air sticks in my lungs.

Beyond the ledge spans swells of hills and tangled, tree-like structures filled with sparkling crystals that pulse in a steady thrum of light. The canopy towers high, blocking out large swaths of the atmosphere above, but the visible portions gleam with gaseous ripples of teal and lime. Orange and yellow stars flicker in rhythmic bursts, peppering the nebulas. I step carefully toward the edge and stare up at the ocean of vibrant colors above us.

It's breathtaking.

"Where are we?" The words seem so small and insignificant in the face of the surrounding terrain.

"Xindiphys." He reappears down the ramp of the Voot with a crate tucked in his arms. "Though it was undeserved, Zim has honored your request." He sets the supplies down in the grass and motions toward the unending sea of trees. "We are isolated enough for you to safely move outside the Voot, but this does not mean you have permission to explore, Dib."

He skulks to my side and crosses his arms, swatting my unruly tuft of hair with his antenna.

"You must stay here, on this ledge. No climbing, no running around - and don't eat any of the plants."

I scoff. "You think I'd try eating alien plantlife?"

"You swallowed an entire stick of sedatives without asking." He arches a brow. "You realize you were asleep for over two days, right?"

My jaw drops a little. "Two days?! What the fuck?"

"Honestly, it was a marked improvement to the previous four," he mutters. I run my hands through my hair in mild shock, trying desperately to recall anything from the past 48 hours. But obviously, there are no memories to be found.

"That's…that's insane."

"Yes, well, that's what you get for being stupid." He turns away and continues rifling through the crate. "At least we know the sedative works on you, because I am definitely requiring you to take it on the way - tch!"

I spin around to see him quickly wipe his bloody hand on his tunic. His lip curls over his teeth and he hisses at the jagged edge sticking out of the box, muttering in Irken.

"You okay?" I slink over, eyeing the bright smear of pink on his glove. His antennae flatten and he scowls.

"Zim is fine." He tucks the injured hand under his arm and huffs. "You understand the rules, correct?"

I nod, trying to ignore the smell wafting from the superficial wound.

Don't be weird.

"Stay here, don't do anything, don't touch anything, don't have any fun - yada-yada."

His glare sharpens. "You will be safe, so long as you remain near the Voot. If trouble occurs, go inside the ship. You'll be adequately protected."

I refrain from groaning like a petulant child. I cross my arms and watch him unpack a dark gray bundle from the crate. The fabric unrolls, and he sweeps the cloak across his shoulders, zipping it neatly over his collar.

"Aw," I whine. "Do I get a space cloak?"

His narrowed eyes snap to mine and he hisses. "No, idiot… But if you behave, perhaps I'll locate one for you." He gestures to the small encampment around the Voot. "Now, make yourself comfortable. Your gross blood juice is in the orange box by the door."

I trail after him as he shuffles to the edge of the overhang. "How long will you be gone?"

He shrugs. "Hopefully only a few hours. It depends on the market…and the current mood of the inhabitants." His gaze lifts warily beyond the stretch of hills, and if I squint, I can see the hazy shapes of strange buildings off in the distance, cloaked in a layer of fog. A heavy sigh escapes him, and he digs something out of his pocket.

"Here," he grumbles. He grabs my hand and drops the rubber ball in my palm.

I can't help but snort at the absurdity of the gesture. "Gee, thanks, Zim. You're too kind."

He flashes his teeth. "I'm still going to confiscate it before we depart, so enjoy it while you can, Dib-stink."

"Your generosity knows no bounds." I roll my eyes and shove the toy in my pocket. "Be safe and all that junk."

He arches a brow, sneering. "You be safe."

"I will do my best interpretation of that."

A string of grumpy Irken curses follow my snarky retort, and with that, he pulls the large hood over his head and scales down the side of the ledge. I crouch, staring after him until his shape vanishes completely in the billowing gray, and the sound of his boots and claws scraping at the rock slowly fades beneath the low hum of the trees.

With every breath that fills my nostrils, I focus on his scent - the bright, sugary pop of blood staining his tunic. The smell lingers long after he disappears.

I sit back on my heels, blinking at the rising fog, and when enough time has passed for me to feel confident in my disobedience, I slide my feet over the edge and begin to follow his trail.