Chapter Text
Dib thanked whatever deity was responsible for hot water. The shower felt amazing on his cold skin. He felt so much more refreshed after this insane evening, and now he also had a clear mind. Dib tugged on a pair of sweatpants and trotted to his bedroom, expecting to see Zim where he’d left him unconscious on the bed.
“Get the fuck off of my computer, space boy!”
Zim glanced up with a bored expression. His actual skin was present on his body, and his wig and contacts were nowhere in sight. He blinked his red eyes tiredly, “What for?” He looked like a child sitting in Dib’s office chair.
“Because it’s mine and--where the hell are your pants?!” Dib felt his face heating.
He stood up and stretched. Dib’s shirt almost acted like a nightgown on Zim, hanging down to his upper thighs, stopping just above the hem of his thigh high socks. This entire situation felt wildly inappropriate, but Dib couldn't place why.
Zim settled on the bed and watched as Dib quickly fumbled to put on a different shirt. What was the problem exactly? The heat was turned up to a very comfortable level in here. “My pants are on the floor,” he finally answered, “I don't enjoy entering sleep mode in the torture devices known as skinny jeans.” His eyes narrowed as though it were Dib’s fault for his own fashion choices.
“...Sleep mode?” Dib asked as he poked his head through his shirt and smoothed it down with his hands.
“Yes…? I cannot walk in this condition,” he spat bitterly, “if someone hadn't knocked me out, I would be fine!”
“It’s not my fault you attacked Gretchen!!”
“ZIM DID NO SUCH THING,” he shrieked in response. “YOU ATTACKED ME FOR MY SCANNER. YOU KNOCKED ME OUT. NOW I SMELL LIKE FILTH AND STRANGER AND SCHOOL.--AND WHO TOUCHED ZIM? WHO!?”
“Dude. Calm down.” Dib made a quieting motion with both hands, “stop fucking screaming.”
“YOU SCREAMED FIRST!!!”
“Alright, fine.” He sighed in defeat. Zim had started it, but it was better just to concede in this case. Better that than have Gaz come storming in and mucking up the situation. “Just quiet down.”
Zim’s eyes bored holes through Dib’s head as he spoke through gritted teeth-quietly, “Who. Touched. Zim.”
“That was a man named The Doctor. If you recall, he showed up on the news last year. You were possessed by the energy specters. He showed up out of nowhere and you attacked us. Gretchen hit you with a bat, and he fixed you somehow.”
Dib watched him and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
“.........Okay, I’ll give, what is it?” he sighed.
“YOU LET THE DOCTOR TOUCH ME?!?!?! I COULD HAVE DIED. HE WOULD HAVE KILLED ME. DO YOU NOT REALIZE WHAT I AM, YOU REPULSIVE WOOLEN SOCK!?!? AND YOU LET HIM ATTEMPT TO REPAIR THE MIGHTY ZIIIIIM??? I HAVE A STASIS MODE AND YOU KNOW THAT. IT WOULD BE FINE. I. AM. ZIM.”
Dib tackled him down and sat on his stomach, shoving a pillow against his face, “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, ZIM, CALM DOWN.” When the alien stopped struggling, he lifted it to make sure he didn't smother him to death. Zim huffed angrily, his chest puffing out with every breath. “For starters,” he poked his finger against Zim’s noseless face, “You. Were. Possessed. We couldn’t do shit about it and we waited over an hour for your stasis mode to kick in. It didn’t. Secondly, the guy apparently knows all of us and is weirdly protective of you or something. Thirdly, he didn’t fix you himself. Someone else did, but I never saw him.”
Zim snarled and snapped at Dib’s finger, audibly growling when he snatched it away in time. A tense silence followed for several minutes. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke in an annoyed voice, “get off me.”
Dib was pretty sure he was going to die right then. He hopped back, landing on the floor with a loud thud. He quickly got to work setting up a sleeping bag on the floor, trying to distract himself from his hammering heart and his red face. This was the third fucking time today he found himself in a weird situation with another person, and it was already getting old.
Zim tugged at lint on his sheets, just waiting silently.
“Okay. Here.” Dib took a deep breath and stood up, facing him. “You can sleep here, tonight, but don’t think this going to be a regular thing, okay?”
The alien rolled his buggy red eyes in response and crawled onto the floor. He was too tired to argue any further. He snuggled into the sleeping bag and closed his eyes, entering a sleep mode almost immediately.
“..good,” Dib hummed to himself and shut off the light. He climbed into bed and fell asleep almost as quickly as Zim.
---
Zim curls into the warm chest of the man carrying him. He smells funny, but he’s warm and his two heartbeats soothe him like a lullaby. Before he knows it, he’s cold again, his entire body shivering.
“I know what you just went through, mate, but...” the strange man’s voice is far away now and he can’t figure out what else is being said.
A new smell envelopes his senses. Hands smooth over his burnt back and Zim cries out. It hurts. Why does it hurt. What’s happened? He tries to activate his status screen, but nothing responds. Fingers press at the edge of the pak and he feels his squeedly spooch twist nervously. What is happening?
Something hard presses under the edge and begins to pry his flat-pak from his back. Zim wants to scream. He wants to protest, but his body won't respond. Fear enveloped him as the death clock began to tick down from 10 minutes. Oh tallests, this is how it ends. He tries to open his mouth to scream, but his jaw won’t respond. What is this? Why is this happening? He never got to complete his mission. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die here in this terrible cold place.
He felt syrupy, sweet tears start to fall from his eyes. Terror spread through his body, making him feel numb. He’s sure he’s floating, or he would be sure if he couldn't feel cold under his thighs and hot, sticky tears on his chin. No. No, stop. Soldiers do not cry. Soldiers do not cry! He didn't want to die in this terrifying cold place with tears on his cheeks. This murderer. This murderer was a monster. A sob choked out of his mouth and he parted his lips to suck in air.
“Shhh, it’s over, Zim, shhh,” something soft brushes over his cheeks, wiping away a stream of the goopy tears. Over. It’s over. He’s dying, he’s dying. He looked frantically under his eyelids for the death clock. Where was it? Had the timer finished? Had he died? He sobbed harder, louder. His chest hurt and he wanted it to end already.
“Zim, it’s alright,” the irritatingly soothing voice crawled into his skull like a parasite. “Calm down...please...shhh,” soft, warm something pressed against his cheek, lifting and pressing and lifting and pressing, working towards the center of his face. He sobbed again, only this time it was muffled. Had he been able to open his eyes, he certainly would have. He wanted to know who this was. What was happening to him?! Was he sucking out his insides because Zim wasn't fully dead yet and suddenly his toes were curling.
The somethings lifted slightly and pressed back down with more force. Zim found himself pressing back, stunned at the electric feeling spreading from his lips. He moved them against the somethings and let out a strangled cry when another hot, but wet something pressed against his tongue. It was weird. It was hot and wet and it made his insides boil.
“Zim, God, Zim I'm so sorry,” hot air brushed his lips as the somethings stopped their assault. Calloused skin worked it’s way over Zim’s biceps and fingers brushed under his gloves and suddenly the air was far too thin. When had his shirt been removed? Surely it must have been if his flat-pak was torn away. He mewled weakly, feeling nails lightly dragging over the most sensitive flesh on his body. He wanted to pull away and hide his wrists and take off his gloves and make his tormenter do it again and again and again.
Zim lifted his head and pressed back into the somethings, pushing his tongue out to find the hot, wet appendage. He twisted and tightened his serpentine tongue around it, trying to tug it back into his own mouth.
Hands moved from his sensitive wrists and fell over his torso, working further and further down until hands were rubbing up and down his thighs, moving higher with every stroke. He spread his legs. What was happening, he wondered idly for the umpteenth time. Surely he had died and this was the afterlife. He hadn't realized there was one and, “Oh-Irk!”
He dropped his head back and cried out as something firm and large pressed between his legs. His best guess would be one of the hands but it felt so good and he wanted to scream and kick and thrash, but the only thing he could move was his stupid face it seemed. If only he could open his eyes.
“--shit,” the heat and the somethings and the hands all pulled away at once. “Oh fuck, Zim, I shouldn't be… you're not...we're not…” The being leaned in close and pressed against Zim’s swollen lips, “I need to go take care of you now...well, not you you...but...you’ll get it later.” The beings voice was low and heavy with emotion. It dragged away again, leaving Zim wanting for contact. “doctor.” Zim didn't want this to end. He finally found his status screen and activated his healing stasis.
With a gasp, Zim sat up. It was dark, and he was shivering hard. He sat, confused, and settled his head into his gloved hands. “What was that,” he muttered to the quiet room. What did humans call it when something was seen in their sleep? “A dream,” he answered himself. That was wrong though. Irken did not dream for they had no imaginations--at least not one developed enough to function in that manner. He shook his head, “a memory?” That didn't seem likely either, right?
A small “!” icon was in the corner of his status screen. He blinked twice to make it display the alert. A new item had been placed into his pak without prior consent. Odd. He was the only one who could activate the interdimensional pockets, but alright. He’d bite. He directed his machine to show him the item and was greeted with a claw holding the charred bits of…
His flat-pak? He felt his belly twinge. Why would his pak be...If his pak was out, how was he using it? He reached back and tapped at his spine. It was as if nothing had happened. His pak was firm and in perfect condition beneath the cloth of the large shirt he was wearing. Curious.
Zim made a note to examine both paks later, but for now, he still felt groggy. He wiggled back into the sleeping bag and found himself shivering again. However, he wasn’t entirely sure it was from the cold. It was cold in the room, but he couldn't place it. His thighs felt too hot and his lips felt strange like they’d been bruised. He blinked a few times then sighed and sat up. It must be from feeling too cold that his body was confused.
He activated an infrared system of sight and glanced around the room. Heat. A lot of heat. Zim crawled out of the bag and pulled himself onto the soft mattress. He slipped under the covers and burrowed himself into Dib’s side, falling back into sleep mode.