InsaneJournal

Chapter Sixteen – In which there’s no problem

The nauseated look on Zim’s face stuck with him as they trudged out of the tiny gas station, into smoky dusk and through a crumbling neighborhood, occasionally stepping over or around the odd corpse. The Irken every now and then casted a wary glance at the infant in his arms, who responded with gurgles and coos that could fell even the most hardened soldier into squealing glee. Clearly, the cute behavior was a defensive mechanism to hide the true smelliness within.

A damned good defensive mechanism it was, too – now that the abhorrent stench had been eliminated via handfuls of baby wipes and nearly half a bottle of clean-smelling powder (and a fresh diaper, of course), Zim simply couldn’t find it in himself to be overly angry with the child.

Overly, at least – he was still angry. Betrayed with such horrible dookie, how could he not be?

He stuck his tongue out at the baby, who stared wide-eyed up at him for a moment before grabbing for the strange serpentine muscle – it looked so much like a worm, and worms were fun! Gagging when the tiny hand closed around his tongue, Zim struggled to disentangle himself from the infant’s grasp, mildly annoyed by her giggling and thoroughly annoyed when Dib started laughing along with her.

“THILENTH!” he attempted to screech at the boy, only managing to accidentally bite his own tongue and make his companion laugh even harder. Grimacing, the Irken finally succeeded in pulling the hand away, giving the infant an aggravated flick to the forehead once he did.

To smeets of a more Irken nature, this would have been considered to be slight punishment – meant to embarrass yet not actually hurt. The human baby, on the other hand, clearly didn’t even consider it to be that. She only gave a slight recoil of surprise before squirming and laughing, making ‘gimme’ gestures for Zim that he dutifully ignored in favor of the silent treatment.

As the infant doubled her efforts for attention, Dib directed an amused grin at the Irken, the hand not resting on the duffel bag straps tucked in his trenchcoat pocket. “So, you still like her?”

Zim glared at him out of the corner of his eye, a scowl decorating his face once more. “I believe I shall name her ‘Stinky’. …It’s a fitting name.” He walked a little faster, intent on putting a good amount of space between himself and the annoying teen – to his dismay, it only had Dib lengthening his strides in order to keep up.

“It’s a stupid name, that’s what it is.”

The Irken turned to pin the full force of his glare on his companion, taking step after step backwards as he did (he ended up having to slow down when he almost tripped over his feet – twice). “She is Zim’s pet – I’ll name her whatever I want!” he snapped, antennae flattening defensively.

A light huff escaped Dib, and he rolled his eyes a bit. “I was the one who found her. If it weren’t for me, you would’ve left her there,” he reminded Zim in a rather grumpy tone.

“She likes Zim better,” the Irken informed him haughtily, not even considering the other’s statement worth his time. It was such valuable Zim-time – how could he waste it?

“I don’t care,” Dib retorted, frowning. “In fact, I’d almost rather she didn’t like you – I really hate that you’re making a pet out of her.”

Zim whipped around once more, back to the human boy, though he directed an odd look at him over his shoulder as he walked. “Do you, now? Aww – poor little Dib-smell, don’t worry. Zim won’t ignore you,” he teased, cackling a bit at the disgusted expression that was prompt to appear on Dib’s face. “If it bothers you so much, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Adjusting the bags to a more comfortable position, the teen averted his eyes moodily. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did – certainly it was better for the child if the Irken took a liking to her. His immensely possessive behavior would no doubt extend to her, much as it did for Dib (as unnerving as the teen found that particular fact), and once Zim claimed something as his, any danger towards the claimed would be considered an attack on his very pride. And while he couldn’t exactly consider Zim an ample model for the rest of the Irken race, the would-be invader Tak had only solidified the conclusion the paranormalist had come to.

Irkens would go to incredible lengths for the sake of their pride.

Thus, Dib simply directed a somewhat disgruntled look at the child – a simple little thing who couldn’t yet understand just how fortunate she was to have been taken into the care of an Irken, however insane that Irken happened to be. “She’s probably safer this way,” he muttered finally, averting his eyes. Considering the massive proportions of Zim’s pride, he pitied any enemies the child might make in her lifetime.

“Yes, because Zim is amazing,” the Irken stated with a nod.

With a grating sigh, Dib conceded, “Sure, whatever. Just do me a favor and think of a different name for her, will you?”

“I’ll do it later.”

Meaning he’d probably never do it. Raising his eyes skyward in exasperation, Dib once again cursed his luck and tried to think of something to calm himself down. Hmm…the mental image of Zim being beaten with a large brick over and over was rather therapeutic…

They spent the next ten minutes walking through the night-shadowed streets in near silence, the baby’s nonsensical babbling the only major sound; there was an occasional burst of cricket song, however, or the bark of some distant dog running about. And once – just once, and from the far side of town – came the ringing of flat notes of triumphant Krakemeth droids.

The following metallic shriek of a sentinel mech had the two jumping in shock; the sound had issued from unnervingly close, yet there was no death machine to be seen.

It was, thankfully, a short-lived mystery.

Hardly three streets from Dib’s house – if it was still standing – a large silver dome the height of what two-story houses remained around it lay in the center of an intersection, smooth metal surface dully reflecting the light of the slowly rising moon. A Krakemeth in a full-bodied biohazard suit crawled around its edges, seeming to be doing some sort of maintenance, though it didn’t interest Dib in the least. What interested him was the fact that what it was working on was an exact double of the monstrosity he’d been faced with, on what he’d initially assumed to be a normal morning of grocery shopping. There was, however, one clearly noticeable difference.

“It’s…smaller,” Dib mumbled, somewhat intriqued.

“Class 17-50, I believe. The one I faced before was far more impressive – Class 5-37,” Zim replied, scratching at his rear with about as much interest as his tone had carried. That is, not much at all. “Good firepower, but not too agile. They’re more for…stomping. And squishing.” The Irken gave a slight grimace – it was a fate he himself had only narrowly avoided.

The teen mimicked the action, but couldn’t even so much as get another word out when he found his arms being filled with a tiny blanketed infant. Dib stared up at his companion in shock, even as Zim started shoving him onward.


“Get going – you’ll only be in Zim’s way. If Tak’s ship has been destroyed, you are to return here and remain out of the way. If it’s in one piece, stay there. And above all, you are to keep my pet-smeety safe.” The alien watched him levelly for a moment before adding, “Do you understand, Dib-creature?”

Sputtering helplessly for a moment, Dib glanced down to the baby – she seemed confused as to the sudden switch in caretakers – and then back up to Zim incredulously. “You intend to fight that thing by yourself? Are you crazy?!” More so that usual, at the very least.

Zim waved him off with a rough gesture of his hand, scowling irritably. “I can handle a simple foe like this, no problem,” he assured Dib, motioning back to the arm-cannon strapped across his back, angled slightly due to the PAK, and continuing cheerfully, “It has laser targeting! How can I miss?”

Because you’re Zim, Dib wanted to reply, but he bit the comment back and instead nodded grudgingly. “And…what do we do if Tak’s ship is destroyed?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’ll use my incredible Zim-skills to gain the pilot’s cooperation!” Zim exclaimed, grinning widely. He paused for a moment of thought, antenna perking. “Might need some rope.”

“That’s…not exactly what I’d call cooperation…”

“And a gag,” Zim continued, not listening to Dib in the least. “It’ll probably yell a whole lot. That’d be annoying.”

Wishing he could smack a hand to his forehead but having no free hands to do so, now burdened with both duffel bags and a baby, Dib sighed irritably. “Yeah, uh, having one of the things that’s been trying to kill us along for the ride in a commandeered vessel – which, might I add, would otherwise explode if the original pilot is anything other than alive – might not be the best way to go about this!”

“Why are you still here?!” Zim barked, shoving him forward a bit more.

“Because your plan is stupid!”

The Irken snarled at him, baring not-entirely-threatening zipper-teeth before snapping challengingly, “Got any better ideas, worm-thing?” Before Dib could actually answer, he cut in swiftly, “I think not! So do not question the methods of the amazing ZIM, for Zim’s methods are ingenious – far beyond the likes of your pitiful mental capacity! Now GO!”

With a final shove, Dib stumbled forward, almost losing his balance entirely and pitching forward. He caught himself, however, and directed a half-hearted glare at the Irken over his shoulder – Zim only made a ‘hurry up’ gesture with the hand not suddenly occupied with a plasma cannon, so the teen reluctantly turned away and jogged (as best as he could with everything he was carrying) down the street and farther from the mech. It was a somewhat roundabout way, but it would keep him out of sight and didn’t take much longer anyway.

He glanced back only once to find the Irken gone, and it was at that point that he realized that he should have thought to mention that Zim didn’t really have to fight, seeing as they hadn’t actually been spotted. Of course, when a disharmonious computerized chord emitted from the mech and it stretched up to its full height – revealing that it was much bigger than they’d initially thought – Dib figured it was a bit late to run back and tell him that.

A good-sized blast of cannon-fire from the sentinel only strengthened his resolve to keep going – he figured not looking back might help, too.

If nothing else, the continuing stomps and laser blasts from the mech proved that Zim was at least making for a difficult target.

As Dib struggled to keep up his pace, he felt his mood somewhat uplifted by the lack of any worrisome amount of destruction around his neighborhood. Surely any destruction at all was worrisome, of course, but while some houses had seen better days, anywhere from half to a majority of the foundation being torn away, other houses had only a portion of wall or a door knocked in, and some hadn’t been so much as touched.

Of course, if Zim’s plan of confronting the mech was as stupid as the teen thought, and the Irken ended up getting himself killed, it wouldn’t matter all too much even if Dib’s house was still in one piece. He didn’t even know if Tak’s ship could make it out of Earth’s atmosphere, let alone support him and the baby in space.

“That idiot,” Dib groaned. “I can’t believe I have to rely on him like this! It’s ridiculous, you know?” He directed the comment down to the infant now curled up in his arms, though she seemed more interested in whimpering and clinging to the folds of her blanket than listening to her rescuer. “You shouldn’t rely on him either; he’s going to get us both killed at this rate.”

He painstakingly ignored the fact that it was only due to Zim’s insanity and possessive rage that they’d survived in the first place.


As he mumbled to himself, a turn onto the next street confirmed what they’d been hoping for, and relief flooded through him. Barely suppressing a joyous shout, Dib awkwardly ran the last stretch to his home, the familiar structure having only a nick in its roof and a broken window to show for everything that had happened.

Though incredibly tempted as he was to run upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes, the teen knew there were far more pressing matters at hand. Dropping the smaller bag to his side to free one arm, Dib pulled open the garage door, flipping the lightswitch a few times before he figured that, yes, the power was indeed out – no doubt permanently – and just carefully picking his way through the wire-ridden darkness to slide the cover off the Irken vessel, thankful for the slight glow the half-moon managed to offer through the veil of smoke covering the city.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked the baby offhandedly, an almost reverent look on his face. “And to think – if Tak had never shown up, I wouldn’t have even gotten this ship. We wouldn’t have a way off of Earth.” He paused, glancing upwards and scoffing a bit. “A way off that didn’t involve stealing a death mech, that is. Some plan that would’ve been. Really, sometimes Zim’s craziness is too much even for me, and I...” Dib trailed off unsurely before adding flatly, “I talk to myself. …It’s weird.”

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the ship; the covershield opened to his touch, control panel lights blinking to life as it recognized and admitted the human, something that had taken Dib countless nights of trial and error to achieve. Reworking Irken programming wasn’t the easiest of tasks, after all.

The amount of space in the Spittle Runner would be a problem, however, he noted when he loaded the two duffel bags into the space behind the pilot seat – they’d barely fit. The baby was small enough (obviously), and while Zim wasn’t entirely small, he wasn’t entirely large, either. Dib, on the other hand, was a nearly full-grown adult male.

Sure, it had been all well and good when he and Gaz had been children, and were able to squeeze in next to each other and still have breathing room and a meager amount of personal space, but now? Now there was hardly even enough space for the teen to stretch out his legs in the tiny ship.

Being cramped was one thing, though – being cramped with one’s mortal enemy was an entirely different thing altogether. Personally, Dib didn’t want to spend the whole outer space expedition squeezed up close to Zim, no matter that the alien was his ally now. He’d never hear the end of it from the Irken, and he’d probably do a good amount of complaining himself.

So, setting the baby nice and comfortable in the pilot’s seat and locking the commands in case she decided to start whacking buttons, Dib rushed from the garage and into the darkened rooms of what would soon no longer be his home, intent on doing something to at least put a few inches between the two grudging allies when they got on their way. (If they ever did, the cynical part of his personality was oh-so-kind to remind him.)

He came back with a small bag of personal possessions and a couple of pillows, the latter of which he hastily shoved between the gaps of the ship’s metal walls and the command chair in a sad attempt to give the vessel more seating room – it somewhat worked, though it said little to nothing for comfort. Let Zim complain about it – at least he wouldn’t be complaining about being scrunched up against a smelly human.

Speaking of which…

Intent on calming his nerves – which the nearby rumbles of battle really weren’t helping – Dib took to hosing off what grime covering him that he could in the front yard, not wanting to risk heading inside for too long when he couldn’t keep an eye on the mech. It was already far too close for comfort.

After just a few short minutes of staring at the death machine as it stomped about, and failed attempts to distract himself with a clean change of clothes and a snack from a garage cupboard, Dib tossed his hands up in frustration. “How’s he even supposed to know I got here okay?! Geez! His plans – they’re riddled with gaping holes!” he exclaimed.

Rushing over to the ship, he made quick work of popping the baby’s pacifier into her mouth and ensuring she had a toy or two to keep herself occupied, then slid the covershield shut once more and covered the vessel. After ensuring the plasma pistol was safely tucked in his belt, Dib pulled the garage door closed and, with once last glance back at the house, set off into the night at a brisk run, directly towards the mech.

He didn’t know what he could do, but – no matter how much of a problem the Irken said it wasn't – he had a feeling that Zim wouldn't be able to hold up for much longer. And no matter how much the Irken complained, Dib was going to help.

It served Zim right, anyway, for making up such terrible plans.