InsaneJournal

Chapter Fourteen – In which there is much walking

It was somewhat unfortunate that, although they were indeed under truce, Zim seemed to insist on making an enormous joke out of the whole thing. As he’d been handing over his stolen plasma pistol to the teen, he’d said, rather bluntly, “Be careful with it, Dib-pet.”

Dib had promptly dropped the weapon in shock, barely caught it in midair, and accidentally fired it, leaving a smoking hole in the asphalt just inches from the Irken’s foot.

“Weren’t you listening?!” Zim snapped, the arm not occupied with the baby settling on his hip indignantly. “Zim is graciously letting you use that so you can help defend us, not so you can use us as target practice!”

It was thoroughly ignored for an entirely different worry, even as the Irken seized his upper arm and started dragging him along when he wouldn’t walk on his own. “What did you call me?” the teen managed weakly, stumbling a little at an unnecessarily rough tug.

“What did you think Zim called you?!” the Irken exclaimed, fixing the boy with his usual death-glare. “You’re a pig-smelly, so I called you Dib-pig! Is that such a surprise?”

Dib seemed confused, and more importantly, not convinced. “Are you sure? Cuz I could’ve sworn you called me something else.”

One brow ridge raised slightly as Zim stared back at him, kicking at rubble on the sidewalks as he went. “Clearly the utter joy at being in Zim’s magnificent presence is overloading your tiny brain and sending it into frothing madness – you’re hearing things!” He stuck his tongue out before adding on irritably, “Your insanity better not be contagious!”

Pulling his arm away and glowering at the Irken, Dib stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You’re one to talk,” he grumbled, turning his glare down to the cement.

There was a long length of silence that followed, Zim having decided he was (for the moment) satisfied with the amount of annoyance he’d so generously bestowed on his rival, and Dib just outright trying to ignore the Irken for that exact reason.

Instead, the teen frowned down at his boots and pretended to be very interested in each quiet footstep – it seemed like an almost deafening sound in the silence of the ruined city. Slightly unnerved, he chose to frown down at Zim’s boots instead, ending up disliking how impossibly noiseless the Irken was when he walked.

Dib only glanced up once to see where they were; straight across the road from them was a small square, with only a run-down gas station with a section of its roof torn off and what was left of a bistro. Still a few blocks from his house (if it was still standing), but it wasn't much farther of a walk. Somewhat content with that, he resumed his previous activities as they made their way across the street.

He was still quite immersed in glaring at the alien’s feet for no good reason when he was quite suddenly pulled to the side, Zim’s claw-like fingers digging into his upper arm as a single warning – ‘stay silent’ – was hissed to him. The mechanical plodding heard moments later was enough of a warning, however – Dib bit at his lip and nodded as they ducked behind an outcropping of wall alongside the ruined restaurant.

Sliding down against the brick and cradling the infant against him protectively with one arm, Zim raised his free hand, a single claw extended; there was only one. They could deal with that.

A quiet pause; then, the Irken flicked one thin feeler and frowned, lifting another claw. …Two, then. Well…could be worse.

“No, wait…” Zim mumbled, looking bemused and tilting his head to the side, antennae quivering slightly.

Dib grimaced, leaning forward and resting his arms over his knees as he squatted next to the Irken. “There’s a third one?” he asked in a whisper. That would probably be a little much for their ragtag team.

The free hand was waved dismissively at him, a gesture that clearly meant ‘shut up, you’re distracting me’, as the Irken concentrated, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. Then, he relaxed and shook his head. “Two – the other one’s leaving.”

Well, that was certainly a relief. “Can we avoid them?” Zim pushed himself to his feet somewhat awkwardly with his unoccupied hand, inching silently to the edge of the wall and peering around it hesitantly. Then, he glanced back, giving a quick nod.

As Dib sidled up next to him, the Irken mumbled lowly, “How much supply stuff do we have?”

The response was equally quiet. “Uh…not enough?” The boy glanced down to the duffel bag hanging at his side, frowning a bit. “Mostly baby supplies, really – couple of diapers, toys, formula and bottles, a pacifier-”

“Wait. What was that last thing?”

“Huh? Oh, uh…a pacifier?”

“Throw it at them.”

Dib blinked, then directed an odd look at the alien. “Wha…? It’s not that kind of pacifier – it’s something you put in a baby’s mouth that can keep them from crying,” he explained, making sure to keep his voice down.

“Huh. Why didn’t you use that earlier?”

“Well, I tried, but she spat it back out and threw it at me,” the teen informed him dully.

As expected, the Irken grinned, giving the sleeping infant a pat on the head as an added bonus. “Such an impressive little larva we’ve picked up,” he chuckled, ignoring the irritated look Dib sent his way. “What else do we have?”

“Uh…some Doritos, a couple bottles of water, three apples of…questionable quality, a Poop granola bar, five packs of various Ramen flavors, and…well…I’m not exactly sure what this thing is, but it resembled food, so I grabbed it.” The boy tugged a clear sack containing a very ambiguous-looking something from the duffel bag, making a weird face as he did. “In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the greatest idea.”

Zim squinted at it for a moment, poked it, then made a thoroughly disgusted noise.

After rolling his eyes and tucking the ‘food’ away, Dib asked, “Why’d you want to know?”

“There is a small supply place right over there, yes? If nothing else, we could hide there, and get more stuff as well,” the Irken replied lowly, glancing back around the wall. Upon determining that the droids’ pilots were at a decent enough distance to where they could safely hold a conversation (provided they didn't yell at each other like usual), he spoke up slightly. “Unless we took a wormhole, there’s no way such provisions could last all the way to our destination. I’ve seen how you eat, little piggy-thing. It’s horrifying.”

“I don’t eat that much…” Dib muttered, frowning. “So…why don’t we take a wormhole?”

Zim waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not safe without the proper features – we’d probably be torn down to the molecular level and spat out as space dust in some half-formed universe ruled by Cthulu.” As Dib winced and tried to think of something else, the Irken stared up at absolutely nothing, mumbling offhandedly, “I miss that little blob…”

“Er…yeah. Okay, anyway, getting more supplies is a good idea in theory, but unless you’ve got something to keep those supplies in, it’s next to useless. Only so much can fit in this little duffel bag, you know,” the paranormalist told him, not bothering to ask about the seemingly out-of-nowhere statement. He figured that if he did, he’d probably just end up wishing he could burn the answer from his mind.

Lifting up a heavy-duty canvas sports bag, Zim replied, “Would this work?”

Dib was silent for a moment. “Where did you get that?” he asked hesitantly. Zim blinked, glanced between the bag and the teen, then shrugged with a noise that sounded vaguely like ‘I don’t know’, only the phrase had been slurred and smeared all over the place until it made only the most base figments of sense. “…I don’t want to know, do I?”

“Probably not.”

“Er…all right, then. Let’s get going.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea – I think the droids found us,” Zim pointed out, maddeningly unconcerned.

Dib’s eyes bugged out. “What?!”

“Yeah, they’re headed this way. The pilots look angry.”

“…Want to run screaming?”

“I guess so.”