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Chapter Text

Dib flopped down onto his bed, only after making sure he had clearly heard and felt his door latch shut and locked three times. Just for good measure. He stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, before inhaling so deeply it filled up his diaphragm and hurt, then let the breath out in a dramatically-loud sigh.

“Fuck… Why does this suck so much?” He groaned quietly, bringing his hands up and under his glasses to dig the heels of his palms into his closed eyes. What “this” was was too many things to specify into a singular word. “This” was how he was treated at school– alienated, isolated, and bullied– and at home– also alienated, isolated, but also belittled. “This” was the feeling he got whenever someone gave him a glare and hissed under their breath “freak” or some slur as they passed by. “This” was the feeling he got when someone deliberately tried to feminize him or refer to him as a girl, despite knowing he was a man. “This” was the feeling he got when he tried to indulge in his interests and even share them with his father, only for the sad excuse for the parental figure to either flat out ignore him or just sigh and shake his head; the latter usually paired with an exasperated “my poor, insane son..”

Dib inhaled deeply and sighed it out again, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and having to swipe his glasses off of his face. As he did so, he felt the all-too-familiar, dull pain on his upper arm and shoulder. He didn't have to roll up his sleeve and look to know the cuts and few scars were still clearly there and visible. In a twisted, bizarre way, he kind of liked that dull pain. It was, as he called it, familiar and at least was there when literally no one else was. Especially when no one else was. That thought made Dib glance over at the nightstand beside his bed, seeing the familiar shine of the metallic-looking safety pin on its surface. He sat up, long legs dangling over the side of his bed.

I don't have to wait until tonight.. No one's going to catch me or care enough if they do, anyway, Dib debated silently, slowly lifting a hand to potentially reach for the safety pin. Ironic, how it's called a “safety pin” yet it's the one thing he has easy and unnoticeable access to that allows him to take this shit out on his poor skin. How safe is it, then? Dib shook his head. That wasn't important right now. He finally reached his hand out and grabbed the small pin, pinching it and letting the sharp-pointed end unravel out. He sighed, again.

He could already feel the pain on his arms, in the exact places he knew the pin's sharp point would slice. Despite it being a repetitive coping mechanism and having a higher pain tolerance than most, the whole “cutting-his-own-skin-into-bleeding” wasn't an entirely pleasant feeling. Obviously. It was definitely the stinging aftermath feeling he loved more. It was odd, sure, and would more than likely get him thrown into the “Crazy House for Boys” by his peers, but it was also oddly comforting. When he had first heard of people using physical self-harm as a coping mechanism, stating that the physical pain helped to distract them from the emotional pain, he had thought it didn't make sense and that there wasn't a point. That was until he snapped and finally did it himself. That was when he realized they had a point. It never completely silenced the emotional grief, the cruel inner voices, the torturous memories, but it helped to quiet them. It helped to distract him.

Dib subconsciously held his breath as he stared down at the safety pin in between his fingers. Should I..? He thought it over. He usually did this shit hours after dark, when it was semi-guaranteed that even Gaz was asleep, and he could truly just wallow in both the dark depths of his room and his own pained soul. It was only roughly 5:30PM as of now, and Gaz was either downstairs or in her room, movie-watching and/or GameSlave-playing. Professor Membrane was out of the question– he was never home, anyway, and if he was he was more than certainly down in his labs. Dib half-snarled at the thought. Before he had even realized what he had done, he felt the familiar, stinging pain in his right upper arm. He slightly turned his head, lifted his sleeve, and looked at where he had subconsciously cut at his skin. It was already red, with an almost swollen look, as blood tried to seep out through some parts of the slice. In the beginning of this habit, Dib hadn't managed to shed any blood, only managing swollen and stinging lines over his arms. Over time, though, the aggression and angst started to truly spill out, and that projected through the force he used with the safety pin. Now he frequently had to use tissues and water, and occasionally vaseline, to clean and wipe away small amounts of blood across his arms. It wasn't like he was gushing blood or cutting through most layers of skin, but he wasn't being so cowardly with it anymore, either.

Dib winced ever-so-slightly as he looked at the newly reddened line over his arm near his shoulder. He looked away as he tugged his sleeve back down. “This is so fucking stupid..” He mumbled under his breath, talking to no one in particular. He sighed, suddenly feeling a sense of emptiness wash over him, and he knew it was inevitable that he'd end up disassociating for the next hour or so.

Chapter Text

Dib paused for a moment, in front of his mirror, and looked at the reflection. He knitted his eyebrows slightly when he noticed his shirt fell down his torso in a way that made his hip structure noticeable– don't ask him how, it just did. He quickly made a move to fix it, tugging down the shirt's collar and pulling the hem down to make him appear more.. Well, box-like, I guess. It helped, kinda. Dib gave a small frown when he turned and the shirt hugged him in undesirable ways at certain angles. Whatever, no one gives a shit, he thought, attempting to brush it off as he turned away from inspecting the reflection, leaving his bedroom to leave for skool. He could just use his trenchcoat to hide himself– besides, he didn't want to keep Gaz waiting. Not like she'd wait for him.

…

Dib entered the Skool, Gaz begrudgingly at his side, and he already felt exhausted. Come on, you're not even behind on any work this week, you can make it through one more day, an inner dialogue told him, and he just sighed dramatically. One of the reasons he already felt so burnt out in the first place was because of how he wasn't behind on classwork– he had worked and studied his ass off last week to prevent that from happening. I guess you could say he felt relieved to have the shit out of the way, but to be quite frank, he felt pretty indifferent about it. How nonchalant of him.

Dib had already been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Gaz had left his side, nor that he was already trudging to his first hour class. The most he could hope for now was the possibility of Zim not showing up today. It was kind of ridiculous to hope for something as inevitable as that, but give the guy a break; he's just felt so groggy and self-deprecating recently and he just did not have the usual energy to put up with the annoying irken. Usually, he'd hope for his green nemesis to be there, to irritate and distract him, but right now he just felt so… Sullen that he didn't think even that familiar banter would make a difference.

The lanky teen found his first hour, eye twitching as he stepped inside, and was quick to scan the classroom for any sign of the alien. He felt his shoulders slump as he spotted Zim, certainly at skool and sitting almost restlessly in his seat across the room. The invader's contacted eyes landed on Dib in the same moment, a devious grin quick to form on his green face. He looked as though he was just waiting for Dib to hurl an insult or even just cast a nasty look that he'd use as an excuse to fight him after class. But the taller boy did neither of those things, hardly looking at the irken long enough to even develop a thought or expression. Instead, Dib whisked around and marched to his own seat, as though he hadn't seen the alien at all. Which baffled Zim, to say the least. A look of shock and confusion passed over the invader's face before he blinked it away, frowning and intently watching the tall teen take his seat across the room. He looked annoyed and puzzled, but Dib didn't feel like indulging him today, so he just plopped his stuff down and leaned his head on his hand.

Soon after, the teacher walked in, the bell rang, and class went on as usual. Although Dib could feel Zim's stare burning the side of his head for a majority of the time, he didn't falter, instead opting to stare ahead and zone out. Whatever– any work they had to do he could just make up later that day or sometime this week. So for the whole 45 minutes of class, Dib indifferently let his mind wander and the sound of the teacher's lectures became that of white noise. After what felt both like an eternity and just a few minutes, the bell rang again, making the lost-in-thought boy nearly jump out of his skin. He was quick to straighten himself, though, and he swiftly gathered his things to make a prompt exit. That was, until a certain green-skinned boy dashed in front of him and nearly caused Dib another mini-heart attack.

“Jesus Christ, Zim, what the hell do you want?” The black-haired boy prompted, already clearly exasperated, heaving a heavy sigh. Zim crossed his arms, tilting his chin slightly to direct his narrowed gaze up at Dib.

“Why did you ignore Zim like that!? Are the insides of your giant head being turned to mush by brain-eating slugs!?” He demanded, and his voice suddenly seemed loud and screechy to the human. Well– okay, the alien's voice was always loud and screechy, especially to Dib– but this was different. Sorta. His voice was loud and screechy in a ‘oh my God, shut up now, please, before I lose my cool because this simple interaction was apparently all it took for me to feel overwhelmed and to wish I could collapse to the ground’ kind of way. Dib winced, and furrowed his eyebrows down at the shorter boy.

“No, this has nothing to do with.. ‘Brain-eating slugs’, as you put it–”

“Then why are you all goopy-like!?” Zim cut him off, stamping his foot on the tiled floor demandingly, and if Dib didn't feel agitated before he definitely did now. The taller teen's expression hardened to look more stern, more unamused at Zim's antics. A small voice in the back of his mind, however, reminded him that it wasn't worth it to give the alien the satisfaction of losing his cool and quarreling. Not today.

“I.. Uhg, I'm not goopy, Zim, I just-” Dib ran a hand down the side of his face, wary of his glasses. He huffed another dramatic puff of air, glancing away and avoiding Zim's expectant look. “I'm just not in the mood for your usual games.” And with that Dib whisked past the irken Invader, who looked surprised at the least.

Zim stood there for another moment, absolutely perplexed. Games!? Was that truly how the Dib saw their epic, horrific and totally honorary battles!? “Wai- wha- games!? You filthy Earthen creature believe your significant battles with Zim are nothing more than games!?” The short invader whipped around, a scowl plastered on his face. By that time, however, Dib was nowhere to be seen, having already left the classroom. This both made Zim's blood boil and his confusion grow. What had the human been talking about? 'Not in the mood’? Nonsense, the Dib was always in the mood! In fact, there were days Zim was sure that their repetitive brawling and bickering made the stinky teenager's mood better! So what gives? The green boy huffed with a frown, opting to just roll his eyes and exit the classroom before the next bell rang. The almighty Zim didn't need to deal with that disgusting, unjustifiably ridiculous after-skool punishment known as dee-ten-chun. It was completely beneath the honorable invader. So with the shuffle of his boots, Zim left for his next, filthy human class. He'd find out what was up with the Dib later, of course.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day went on as usual– minus the fact that Zim, oddly enough, seemed to have listened to Dib and didn't make another move to confront him. It would've bugged the human boy if he hadn't been stuck in his head every class and then after classes. It was strange how today had passed by in what felt like merely minutes yet also felt abnormally long and dragged-on. Dib had barely noticed he was even walking back home from skool until he blinked, finding himself stepping inside the Membrane house.

As he released a breath he didn't know he was holding, Dib silently closed the door behind him. It was then that he felt a sudden, creepy feeling behind him, making a shiver involuntarily run down his spine. He quickly turned to find its source and was met by– an almost confused looking– Gaz. She had one eye open, narrowed suspiciously at him. Dib felt another shiver shoot up his back.

“Uh, can I help you?” He questioned warily, raising an eyebrow as Gaz eyed him intently. As though she were searching for something.

“You're sure quiet today– for once.” She stated flatly, knitting her eyebrows. “Not that I'm complaining, remaining silent is a good look for you, but it's almost freaking me out. Did something happen with Zim?”

The corners of Dib's mouth twitched down, and he sighed for probably the millionth time that day. “No, quite the opposite, really. Why do you care, anyway?” He rolled his eyes, before returning his sister's suspicious look. To which Gaz only huffed.

“I don't, I just found it odd how nonchalant you've been. Been listening to MCR recently?” She prompted rhetorically, and her lips twitched as though she was stopping herself from grinning. Dib's frown deepened and he rolled his eyes again.

“Ha ha, very funny, Gaz.” He scoffed with the slight furrow of his eyebrows. Gaz didn't say anything else, giving a small noise of amusement as Dib swiftly marched past her and trudged up the stairs, heading for his bedroom.

Once Dib had hastily made it to his room, shutting his door and subconsciously locking it, he strolled to his bed, carelessly sliding his skool stuff off to thud onto the floor. He immediately went limp and let his body flop onto his bed– not before swiping his glasses off, of course. He groaned softly when his face hit the mattress and his nose was pushed up uncomfortably, yet he made no attempt to move. Dib laid there for a moment, his mind being an odd and confusing mixture of frenzied and empty. His mind was loud, but not with voices. Loud with noises, rather. Just noises. Or maybe there were voices; they were just too fuzzy and jumbled to be coherent.

Dib groaned again, this time louder and more dragged out; more dramatic. He felt tired– but not the sleepy kind of tired. More like the kind of tired that makes your body ache and your brain feel like TV static and like you'll never have the energy to do anything besides laying in that certain spot of your bed. He hated when he felt like this. It was always so irritating– he could be doing something right now. He should be doing something right now, before he relaxes. If you could even call it that.

He should be getting out his unfinished skoolwork papers from today and start working on them. He should be taking off his shoes and changing back into his pajamas. He should be getting something to snack on. Actually– scratch that. The thought of eating anything made Dib's stomach churn and he suddenly felt a little nauseous. The black-haired teen groaned to himself, feeling a wave of uselessness wash over him, the invisible pressure suffocating him.

I can make it one more day, huh? Dib silently prompted to his inner dialogue, jaw clenching. When he got no ‘response’ he sighed, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He could just imagine his sister and/or his peers giving him an odd look and calling him a ‘freak’ or a ‘weirdo’ for trying to speak to an imaginary voice in his head. Whatever. As much as he usually hated the taunting, paranoid commenter in the back of his mind, sometimes it was all that he had. As both a voice of reason and something to keep him from feeling lonely. Or rather, more lonely than he already felt, if that was possible.

After realizing that he must be wasting too much time laying down, mindlessly staring at the ceiling, Dib abruptly sat up. Which he instantly regretted, for he became lightheaded and saw colors dancing across his vision for a good couple of moments. Once he recovered he stood up, not bothering to take off his shoes. He was too used to wearing them by now and didn't want to feel cold and exposed by taking them off.

Dib opted for going to the bathroom before deciding whether or not he should go downstairs. He quickly walked down the hall, carefully opening and closing the bathroom door so as to not make much noise. Once he was done with his business and turned on the faucet to wash his hands, he glanced at himself in the mirror. The reflection made him frown.

He looked pale– in a gross way, might he add. His eye bags had grown darker and made him look more dead. His acne looked as though it was starting to get bad again, which was just great. His scythe-looking cowlick seemed almost droopy, leaning off slightly to the side of his head and the end being narrowed down. Lastly, his jawline looked too soft, too round. He may have a more ‘defined’ jawline and overall facial structure than most girls his age, but still. To him, it just looked– felt– soft, round, hardly there at all, even.

Now that he thought about it, his eyes suddenly seemed too big and round– nevermind the fact he had almond-shaped eyes. His eyelashes looked too long and too dark, more like that of a cartoon character, really. Y'know what, maybe his nose was too small, too. Maybe his lips were too big and soft-looking. Maybe his hair was getting a bit too long again, doing more to shape his face and make it look feminine.

Suddenly a jolt of pain spread throughout Dib's hands, and he felt it in his abdomen. He drew in a sharp breath, yanking his hands back and snapping his gaze down to the sink. Ah, he set the water too hot. Taking a moment to let his poor hands recover, the boy sighed and turned the faucet knob just an inch in the other direction to cool the water. He kept it a good warmth, though. What good was cold water in killing germs?

Once he was finally done washing his hands, which were now dry and felt obnoxiously textured, Dib flicked off the lights and swiftly exited the bathroom. How long had he spent in there? 5 minutes? 10 minutes? Whatever, he didn't care and he was certain no one else did. The only other person in the house– as far as he was aware– was Gaz, and she seemed to already be either locked in her room or down in the living room. More than likely dominating the GameSlave. Plus, there were other bathrooms in the house. If she had needed to she would've gone to one of those.

Dib lightly shook his head to clear his thoughts, like a reset button. He stopped at the top of the stairs, slowly placing a hand on the railing. Should he head down and find something to eat? The idea of food was still a little nauseating, but he hadn't eaten much of the lunch at skool today. But that was because it was nasty, he had a very valid reason to feel sick by it! The teen furrowed his eyebrows as his brain debated over the matter. Before he took his hand off the railing, ultimately deciding against it. He clearly wasn't hungry and therefore didn't need to eat. Shouldn't eat. Besides, it was probably better and more efficient for him to wait until dinner, anyway.

With that conclusion, Dib turned away from the stairs and headed back for his room. Maybe he could work up the motivation to get his skoolwork from today done. Probably not– but he wanted to believe he had that kind of willpower. He stepped back inside of his room, quietly closing the door behind him and locking it.

Chapter Text

Dib groaned, suddenly feeling as though he was being suffocated. He promptly took off his glasses and put his face in his hands, fingers pressing into the textured skin. Every little noise he heard ticked him off; made him want to shout and demand silence; made him want to strangle everything and then himself. He sighed heavily into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut until it hurt.

The exasperated teen had been trying to get his skoolwork done, but he couldn't focus. He couldn't focus at skool, so of course he couldn't focus at home either. Isn't that just so great and beneficial? Whatever, that didn't matter– what mattered was the fact that Dib had been trying so hard to focus and just process what was being said on the damn paper that he got progressively irritated to the point of being overwhelmed. His room's light was suddenly too bright and gave him an eyesore, every little sound from somewhere in the house to outside the house made him want to rip off his skin, the way he sat made him feel suffocated and as though his personal space was invaded, his teeth felt wrong in his mouth and it bothered him just to feel them with his tongue or make noise– the list went on.

He needed to get a hold of himself, he needed to calm down. It was just skoolwork, he could get it done anytime that week! It wasn't due until next week anyway, he had time. He could totally understand the material if he just read it thoroughly– or asked someone, if he needed to– he just couldn't focus right now. He was fine. Everything was fine. So why was he getting so worked up? Why did it feel like his mind was going 200 mph and .05 mph at the same time? Why did he feel itchy under his skin and contaminated above his skin? Why did every part of his body and clothes feel as though they were together and put on wrong?

No, no– stop. It was fine. He was fine. Dib inhaled until his chest hurt, then breathed out loudly. Trying to silence his brain. Okay, he knew what some of the things in his room were bothering him right now. Maybe if he just terminated what was causing him anguish he'd feel better? It sounded like a solid plan to Dib, so he promptly stood from his desk and whipped around. He quickly went over to his door and switched off the light, immediately sighing in slight relief when his room darkened. Now the only light that illuminated the room was the dull sunlight that bled in through Dib's window, which he was fine with. He didn't need his room to be completely dark yet.

Now for the noises and sounds that were ticking him off. He couldn't do much about the ones outside, but he could reduce the sounds in the house. Well– his room, more like. Dib could hear the faint buzzing of a monitor he had on, and he quickly walked over and turned it off. He then looked over at the small fan, sitting atop his drawers, that was on. Usually, the sound of a fan going was soothing and similar to that of white noise to him, but right now Dib just needed it gone. He briskly pressed down on the fan's off button and slumped his shoulders as his room was now completely silent.

Dib sank to the floor right there, not bothering to saunter to his bed and plop down there instead. He brought his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead against them, closing his eyes again and relishing in the dimly-lit and quiet room. He chose not to think about his work right now; just trying to find even a small moment of peace and relaxation. He needed this. He needed to calm down and ground himself.

After what was either a few minutes or an hour, Dib reluctantly opened his eyes and lifted his head. He felt better, somewhat. Really he just managed to help himself feel numb, but that was considerably better than being overwhelmed. He heaved another loud exhale before finally getting up from the floor, stumbling slightly. Dib turned and looked over to where he had set his phone down on his bed before walking over and picking it up. He pressed it on to check the time.

7:42PM.

Had he really wasted more than two hours sitting at his desk, doing nothing but work himself up for doing nothing? Dib frowned, staring at his lockscreen before it automatically turned off again. Honestly, it felt later, like it'd be somewhere around 9PM. So at least it wasn't 9PM.

There were more long, heavy moments of silence, before there was suddenly a noise. A… Tapping sound? Dib froze, snapping himself out of his head and tuning into his surroundings to figure out if he was hearing things or if the tapping was real. He strained his ears, and only a second later heard it again. Louder. Dib whipped around to look for where it was coming from.

His eyes widened when he looked at his window and felt his heart drop. The boy immediately snatched his glasses off of his desk and hastily put them on, almost poking his eye out in the process. Dib blinked and looked again– and sure enough, Zim was there. Outside and peering through his window with an impatient scowl, arms crossed and antennae twitching irritably.

When the alien saw Dib now looking at him, properly seeing him, he pressed his face against the circular glass. “Dib-filth! Let Zim in this instant, you primitive Earth monkey!” Zim demanded, his voice muffled from being on the outside and, this time, knocking on the window rather than tapping. Dib flinched and contemplated for a mere second, before slumping his shoulders and slowly walking over, climbing onto his bed, and opening his window. He tried quickly to move out of the way but was too late, for Zim immediately hurled himself into the room and collided with Dib, knocking them both over off the bed and tumbling down to the floor. Dib's eyes widened and he huffed, back slamming into the ground and having the wind nearly knocked out of him. Zim was already standing, dusting himself off, by the time the human teen sat up and adjusted his glasses, regaining his breath. Dib was dazed for a split moment, before quickly shaking his head and promptly standing up.

“Zim!? What the hell– what are you doing here!?” He snapped, whipping around to point an accusing finger at the little irken.

Zim simply tossed a glance up at Dib, raising a– well, where an eyebrow would be. He then straightened his posture and placed a hand on his chest, clearing his throat.

“Zim has come to further investigate the matter at hand!” The green-skinned boy declared as though it were obvious. Which only dumbfounded Dib more. Dib knitted his eyebrows together and his mouth fell agape, trying to think of a response.

“Wha– what are you talking about, ‘the matter at hand’? You can't just show up to my house, knock on my window and demand to be let in!” The human boy hissed through gritted teeth, trying not to make too much of a commotion in fear of getting Gaz's attention or worse– angering her.

Zim gave him a look, before crossing his arms again and narrowing his raspberry eyes. “And why not? You let me in, anyway, stupid human.” He prompted matter-of-factly, almost grinning.

Dib sputtered, again trying to think of a valid response to that. After a few seconds he paused and sucked in a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

“Because I don't want you here! I only opened up and let you in to see what you wanted!” He defended, before looking back down at the invader. “Speaking of which, why are you here, Zim!?”

Zim's snout scrunched and he suddenly looked a tad bit irritated again. He returned the earlier gesture by pointing a gloved finger at Dib. “I'm here because I demand to know what's gotten into you, human! First you ignore Zim, then you call your glorious battles with him mere ‘games’, and then you continue to act all schmoopy and sulky like a sad, pathetic worm-baby! Even now you act slumpy and exasperated!” The irken's voice progressively got louder, more agitated, and he balled his fists. Dib was about to tell Zim to keep it down before the alien seemed to do that himself, taking a breath and regaining his composure, straightening his posture again. “Zim simply wishes you to tell him what the issue is so I can terminate it and we carry our usual routine as normal.” He concluded casually.

Dib just stared at him, unblinking as he processed Zim's words. After a moment of looking at a loss for words, he blinked and dragged a hand down his face. Looking, indeed, exasperated.

“Look, Zim, it's– there's nothing wrong. I just– I don't know– haven't been in the mood. Like I said earlier.” The human teen tried to explain, but, quite frankly, he wasn't so sure what was wrong with himself either. He sounded– and felt– strained, and he suddenly had the urge to just lay down in bed and dissociate until he eventually grew tired and fell asleep. He didn't want to put up with this.

Zim looked unsatisfied with Dib's answer, antennae twitching. “Nonsense– from my undeniably accurate knowledge and research regarding humans, you primitive creatures are never just ‘not in the mood’. There is something more, and I, Zim, will figure out what– mark my words, Dib-stink!” The alien promised rather proudly, a grin starting to form on his green face. Hoping to get a worthwhile reaction out of Dib.

Speaking of Dib, the human just sighed, shoulders slumped as his eye twitched. “Great, awesome, can you leave now? I'm sure you can uncover the reasons for my multitude of issues somewhere else– that isn't here.” He stated flatly, gesturing a hand to the still-open window where Zim had entered from.

This surprised Zim– only a little bit, though, of course. He gave Dib a puzzled look before frowning. The alien boy gave a confused and irritated huff, turning away. “Fine. But I will return! Just as soon as I discover the reason for your angst; I'll be back!” He tried to keep up the defiant and intimidating act, but Dib did not seem amused by it. The taller teen just crossed his arms and watched as Zim unsheathed his PAK legs to help himself through the window.

“'Kay, have fun.” Was all Dib replied with, shrugging and trying not to roll his eyes. Zim paused right outside the window, staring at Dib with narrowed eyes for a moment– almost suspiciously, or as though he were searching for something. Before he just gave another eccentric huff, turning away and swiftly climbing to the ground with his PAK legs.

Dib watched him go, eyes not tearing away until the irken invader was out of his sight. Once he was sure Zim was gone, he heaved another breath, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall loosely to his sides. He turned and glanced back at the skoolwork still sitting on his desk. Unfinished and oddly intimidating.

Dib just held his breath, staring down at the paper for an agonizingly long moment, before he turned away. He rubbed his eyes, his body suddenly feeling heavy and groggy. He just wanted to lay down– to turn off his brain and make everything stressing him out disappear. Make the world slow down and just stop. Was that too much to ask?

The burnt out teen almost scoffed to himself. After just standing there for a solid minute, Dib eventually got himself to close his window, shut his blinds, finally change out of his clothes and into his pajamas, and flop onto his bed. He laid like that for a few seconds before actually making an attempt to get under the covers and place his head on his pillow, taking off his glasses and setting them on his nightstand. He turned over on his side to face the wall, closing his eyes as he vainly hoped to get decent sleep.

He knew it had to be only around 8:30PM now, but he couldn't care less at that moment. He just wanted rest, some kind of escape, a break. So he kept his eyes closed, steadying his breathing and trying to keep his mind from racing. Maybe he could just forget about all this weird shit with himself– and Zim– tomorrow morning. If he got any sleep at all, that is.

Chapter Text

Dib breathed, his chest slowly rising up before sinking down until his ribs felt compressed. He was tired, but not really in the sleepy sense. No, he was tired in a way that left his whole body slumping, his brain painful to hold within his head, his entire being wishing it weren't so… Alive.

It was always everything and nothing. Like everything made him feel so small, so without motivation or energy, so out of place, yet he so desperately clung to the thought that nothing mattered. That, in the end, everything was nothing.

But maybe he was biased. After all, he was the one who had a shitty relationship with his shitty dad, was called “crazy” and isolated from his peers all his life, could never get assignments done right and turned in on time anymore, had the absolute worst sleep schedule, had a brain so fucked up it made him want to starve himself, and hated his body, his life, his everything so much he cut himself and couldn't stand looking into mirrors or taking pictures. Of course someone as mentally fucked as him would want to believe that everything was actually nothing.

He was supposed to have a purpose, a fate that would justify everything for him. He was supposed to be Earth's Goddamn savior, to stop and defeat Zim. But that bastard didn't seem so.. Enthusiastic about taking over Earth anymore. In fact, the two were almost friends. As much as the prospect of a first real friend should have appealed to Dib, it only made him feel worse.

Without a Zim to stop, what was his dead-set, glorious destiny? What was to become of him? What, was he just supposed to crawl to his dad and suck up to him? Finally accept the ways of “real science” and take that on as his main studies again? That hadn't ended well the first time. Plus, he was not willing to give his dad any kind of satisfaction. Not after all the shit he'd put up with over the years of his entire fucking life. He didn't owe that man anything.

Besides, Dib knew he was too messed up in the head to ever have a solid, healthy relationship with– anyone. Let alone someone who had been his worst enemy just, what, a couple of years ago? If anything, having Zim as a friend meant there was the possibility that the alien could care  for him, as small as that possibility may be. Sure, to literally any normal person ever, that would sound like a good thing. And sure, maybe it was. But not to Dib.

He'd been fucked up since he was old enough to be anything. He contemplated his own death every day and every night. He was hanging on by a thread at this point. Now was not the time he needed someone to actually start giving a shit about him. Now, when he was younger, he'd definitely feel otherwise. Just a few years ago, he would've got on his knees and begged for someone, anyone, to care, to not want him to despise himself so much, to not want him gone for good. He would've begged and pleaded and prayed for just a single person to appear even slightly interested in him, in his interests, in what he had to say, in his thoughts and feelings.

But it was too late for that now. Dib had long lost the deep, humanly-natured desire to have someone connect with and care for him. He didn't need someone to just come into his life and try to make it seem better, more normal. It would just mean someone would be hurt, be affected, when he finally ended it all. He was already planning to die lonely and insignificant, he didn't need to die with a guilty conscience, too.

He knew it was coming. Knew that, eventually, one of these days, he'd finally muster the courage to do it. To kill himself. It was only a matter of time– or a matter of how long he wanted to keep dealing with this shit, rather. So he really didn't need Zim coming in and ruining that for him. Just like the alien had only helped to ruin things when he'd first arrived. That little extraterrestrial bastard had only ever influenced people's– and his dad, especially his dad– opinions on him that he was insane and a complete nut, a lost case. That he deserved to be thrown in a mental institution. Which, to be fair, they weren't too wrong there. But still; they thought it for the wrong reasons.

Dib rubbed his face with his hands, palms digging into his flesh with a good, relishing amount of pressure. Where had things gone so wrong for him? Why him? There are more than 8 billion people on this fucking planet, why couldn't this kinda shit happen to literally anyone else? Granted, it more than likely did, but he really felt alone. Every day left him feeling sore from the inside out. His will to fly drowned.

Contrary to what may or may not be popular belief, he didn't want things to be this way. He didn't want to feel this way all the damn time. He didn't want to want to feel this way. He didn't want to hate his dad. He didn't want to be so disconnected and seen as so painfully different from his peers. He didn't want to feel so sorry for himself that he forced himself not to eat. He didn't want to be filled with such constant sorrow, anger, helplessness, hopelessness, conflict, and emptiness that he cut and burnt himself and made himself suffer. He didn't want to not want anyone to care for him, to be there for him, to be there with him. Yet, he just wanted to feel worse. He wanted to not get better. He wanted the world to push him so close to the edge, to poke and nudge and flick at him until he finally let gravity take him. He wanted to feel so awful, so alone, so empty that he couldn't handle it anymore. And he wanted to be so awful, so alone, so empty when he finally reached his breaking point. Just so it wouldn't affect anyone, just so he was certain the planet would keep spinning. That way he could go out without making a dent, without needing to think for a second that he'd regret it. No one would need to care, to cry, to feel bad, to feel his own pain. It would honestly be more like he was doing people a favor.

Dib slowly slid his hands off his face. He turned his head to the side just enough to glance at his nightstand– well, it was technically his desk, but it was close enough to his bed to count as a nightstand. Catching the glint of the metallic shimmer of his safety pin, the boy blinked. Slowly sitting up, he reached for the pin.

He knew he was pathetic for this, for harming himself like this. But he needed it, he was sure. Thanks to himself, he had nothing else, no one else. But he needed that, too. He was just simply waiting for the day to come where he'd finally rid the world of himself, but until then he'd be strung along with this as his needle and thread.

He was always so conflicted, so unsure in himself yet so confident in his speech. Nothing was ever linear. Nothing ever made sense. Everything about him, his traits, his qualities, his skills, were never really him. His everything was always nothing. Except for moments like this, where he sat alone in the dimness of his room, safety pin unsheathed and in hand, thoughts up front and center. Where he knew one thing for absolute certainty; he wanted– no, needed death. Needed it to come and save him, to cleanse his lungs and allow steady breathing. Needed it to come to him offering sweet relief.

He wasn't sure why he was this way. Didn't know what was wrong with him. Didn't know why he couldn't keep a grip on himself, hold onto himself. All he knew was that in this lonely darkness, he knew himself enough to know he needed a taste of death. Needed to be free of this sad excuse of a life. He couldn't possibly break free until he let it all go, let it consume him. Let it allow him to sink and wither.

Dib exhaled through his nose. He pulled up his sleep shirt and tossed it aside, pulling off his pajama pants and giving them the same amount of regard. Exposing all his limbs and torso. He didn't even stiffen or shiver when he felt the chilled, goosebump-inducing air hit his scarred skin. It was always cold as a morgue in his room. He liked it that way. Consider it fate-training or some shit like that.

As he raised the sharp point of the pin to the abused skin of his upper arm, Dib caught himself pondering if he should instead go for the inside of his wrist. After a moment or two of contemplation, he decided against it. For now. He didn't feel like he had the energy to deal with the pain of that yet.

With a barely-steeling breath, he dragged the small blade-like object over his skin, over a place where a scar had already been forced to form. A stinging yet relieving sensation of pain shot through him. He hardly winced.

Dib didn't spare a glance down at where pin was meeting skin, merely continuing to cut and slice at his upper arm and shoulder. Once the ache was starting to become more adamant and an almost burning sensation, he switched hands and began to do the same for his other upper arm and shoulder. He cut and sliced and dragged and slit until that area of his limb also felt sore and hot.

Dib's mind gradually felt quieter, more bearable, as he moved on to his upper thighs and hips. He dug into the flesh there, punishing and apathetic. He didn't slow to a stop until his skin tingled with an aching throb and a pained, stinging heat. Once he was done, he took a breath as though he'd just gone for a short jog.

His mind seemed distant and eerily quiet, similar to that of TV static or thick fog or something akin to those comparisons. He blinked before finally glancing down to observe the job he'd done this time. He was greeted with the sight of red, angry lines crisscrossing and littering his upper arms, shoulders, upper thighs, and hips. There was bleeding, it was light and not dramatically gory or anything but he was fine with that. It's what he typically aimed for.

Dib continued to stare down at his weeping, antagonized skin for a few moments longer, relishing in the solitude he got from his own mind. After what felt like an eternity but could've very well had just been a few minutes, the boy blinked, somewhat snapping him out of his trance-like state.

With rehearsed, subconscious actions he reached out and grabbed the box of tissues on the edge of his nightstand-desk-whatever. He then reached over again to retrieve a bottle of water that was roughly ⅔ full.

Using a couple of tissues, Dib then patted away at his battered areas to wipe off the slight blood. Twisting off the cap to the bottle, he then pulled out a few more tissues and carefully dampened them with just a bit of water. He then went over his cuts again with the cool, damp tissues, wiping up a tad more of the blood while working to chill and soothe the angry marks.

Dib did this for a few more minutes before he eventually came to the conclusion that he had tended to himself enough. With a breath he placed the box of tissues, water bottle, and safety pin all back onto the surface of his desk. Glancing around, he found his abandoned shirt and pants and languidly reached out to grab them. Once he'd gotten his sleepwear back on– hardly wincing when the fabrics rubbed against his sore skin–, the boy took off his glasses, folded them, and set them down onto his desk-nightstand.

Shockingly enough, now he felt tired. The sleepy kind of tired, that is. Well, maybe not sleepy-sleepy, but definitely sluggish and exhausted. Not even bothering to reach for his phone and check the time, Dib grabbed the covers and swiftly pulled them over himself. With a deep, just nearly shuddery breath, he rolled onto his side and got as comfortable as he could, ignoring the bit of pain that protested at him whenever his offended flesh made too much friction or was applied with too much pressure.

Maybe, hopefully, he could go to sleep and just brush this all off in the morning as he always did. Until then, just let everything be nothing.