Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This must have been what the Dib felt like when stalking his base. Zim had never understood the appeal, always getting his kicks in battle rather than in surveillance, but now that Zim was so close to triumph after a half hour of mind-numbing inaction he was beginning to understand. The thrill Zim was feeling was one he hadn’t felt since before the truce and was one he had forgotten entirely a few years after that. These two facts served to make the feeling that much more potent and Zim was having difficulty controlling his excitement. But he had to, he couldn’t afford to make a mistake when he was so close. He gripped his gun tighter.

A mall-goer stopped his wanderings in front of the potted shrub Zim was hiding inside, but was quick to move on when an arm reach out and clawed at his leg. By the time the man had moved, Zim could no longer see his target within the store and had to fight to hold himself together. It felt like an eternity before she returned to the front of the store where Zim could see her, waving goodbye to someone inside. A zippered grin cut a swath across his face as she exited. In just a moment, the wait would be over and target one would be within range to…

“Feel the wrath of Zim’s surprise attack!” Zim had sprung out from behind the shrub and had his gun pointed at Zita’s chest. She stood frozen in shock, the foam bullet at her feet.

“I— are you— are you fucking kidding me?! I just got off work, you asshole! The game started today!”

Zim ignored his vanquished target’s whining as he approached her, phone in one hand, Membrane-patented-Runny-Shouty in the other. “Attention Dib,” he spoke into the Shouty, “target one has been disposed of, I am preparing to obtain evidence of his conquest before rendezvous at the courtia, do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, Space-boy. I have eyes on targets two through four, they’re dining at the edge of the food court closest to the Bloaty’s. Meet me by the palm tree to proceed with phase two. Agent Mothman out.”

Zim clipped the Shouty to the belt where he had just holstered his Nerf gun and bent to pick up the bullet. Dib had been very insistent that he not lose them.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Zita sighed.

“Yes! It is time for my victory picture!” Zim opened the camera on his phone and sidled up next to Zita. He lifted the phone to the optimal selfie height, but found that her face was far from visible. “Eh? Cursed device…” He tilted the phone up, but found that wasn’t much better.

“Jesus Christ, just give me that.” She snatched the phone out of Zim’s hand, snapped the picture, and handed it back to him. He checked the photo to ensure her thumbs down and his thumbs up were visible before stowing it into his belt.

“Excellent! Soon the world will know of my victory.”

“Yeah whatever, I’m out of here. I’ve got friends waiting for me at the food cou—” Zita froze, phone halfway out of her pocket. “Oh shit,” she whispered.

Zim grinned, feeling the thrill from earlier return. "I can't let you compromise the plan, idiot girl. You’re coming with me so I can ensure your cooperation."

“No way, I’m warning my friends!” Backing away from Zim, she pulled her phone the rest of the way out of her pocket and started typing furiously. Then she was looking down at Zim. Who held her phone in her hands.

He was gone in an instant, bolted down the hallway towards the unmistakable smell of a food court. He darted between milling strangers holding bags and children with ease, but Zita had much less finesse as she shoved people out of the way in her pursuit. Zim fumbled the Shouty off his belt and clicked it on.

“Dib! Zim is coming, but target one is in pursuit! Be prepared to shoot upon— MOVE you filth— upon my arrival!”

Zim heard a faint ‘copy that’ as he exchanged his Shouty for the plastic gun banging against his leg, still clutching his ex-target’s phone in one hand. Zim turned his head and shrieked, ducking just in time to avoid a very Dib-like swipe Zita had aimed at his head. The panels on Zim’s PAK twitched as he forcibly overruled his instincts to use his extra legs. The game was exciting, but not important enough to merit such drastic measures.

Another glance backwards told Zim that Zita had almost caught up again, so he veered off towards a bridge connecting the two sides of the mall’s second floor. Transferring the phone to the same hand that held the gun, Zim let himself fall and slide under a bench on the bridge, grabbing a leg of it and sling shotting himself back to the side of the bridge he had come from as Zita jumped over the bench in the opposite direction. She realized her mistake as soon as she made it and a loud squeak of her sneakers betrayed her change in direction back towards Zim.

It was too late however, as Zim was nearly at the food court. He spotted Dib creeping behind a palm tree and fired his gun at his head. The shot went wide, but drew Dib’s attention to where Zim was sprinting towards him from the rear. Dib pulled out his gun and matched Zim’s stride as soon as they were abreast of one another.

“They’re right there by the Bloaty’s, the group of three with guns on their table.”

“Zim is not an idiot,” he spat, locking onto the group.

No more words were necessary as the two closed in. When they were three tables out, Dib and Zim brought their guns up and Zita shouted a warning. It was too late for two of the targets, but the last one was able to duck the bullet meant for him, grab his gun, and return fire. Dib was still running forward when he saw the bullet spiraling neatly towards his face. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, but found himself impacted by a dense weight from the side rather than a pinpoint one on his forehead. Zim’s tackle sent Dib crashing into a table, but Zim wasted no time in springboarding off his fallen ally and towards the last target, firing a single bullet as he did.

“Victory for Zim!” The alien struck a pose.

“Give me my phone back you prick!” Zita, livid and out of breath, shoved Zim and held out her hand.

“Insolent filth, do not touch the all mighty Zim!"

“Wait, you stole her phone?” Dib picked himself up off the table, rubbing his ribs as he approached the sullen group.

Zim narrowed his eyes and held the phone at his chest. “It was necessary for the preservation of the plan Dib, did you not remember that we are to ‘win at all costs?’”

Dib sighed. “Well I… fuck, I guess I did say that. I was kind of joking though.” Dib gestured wordlessly for Zim to return the phone, which he did with more force than strictly necessary.

Upon second thought, Zim handed Zita his own phone as well. "Since you're already here, you will take the victory picture of Zim and your inferior team."

She took it, scowling.

"Please?" Dib added, seeing her hesitance. "It would be a huge help."

Zita seemed to debate with herself for a moment before gesturing for her team, Dib, and Zim to gather together. For her three teammates, the photo looked like a group mugshot. Their thumbs down were so saggy that they were hard to notice, especially in contrast with Zim’s over-energized grin and thumbs up. Dib wasn’t able to hide is pain in the picture, but Zim didn’t notice this detail when he reviewed the photo. He was beginning to like this game.

Chapter Text

Friday. One week later.

Through the glass front of the gas station, only Zim's wig was visible as he paced the length of an aisle. Fluorescent light glinted off its black, synthetic fibers and the old pillow yellow tones of the rest of the station.

“We should leave now, Zim will not wait idly any longer!”

Dib was leaning behind the counter, idly twisting a button on his 'Squeezy's Gases n' Juices' polo. “If you wanna leave that badly, then by all means go ruin the plan. But just know that my shift at the Squeezy Mart today is a crucial and genius part of our victory. Since I have to be here until eleven, there’s no way I can drive to the party before Torque’s team is too wasted to resist our combined power and superior planning.”

Zim whipped out his gun, pulled the trigger, made an about-face, and re-holstered the gun. It looked well practiced. “The great Irken race does not wait to conquer, we take what’s ours with speed and power. This sounds like a plan for cowards, Dib. Stupid cowards who look ugly.”

“Hey, my plans are good! Just because they have finesse doesn’t mean they suck. Besides, this isn’t a game you can win with just ‘speed and power,’ since we can’t play during skool and each team knows what the other looks like it requires watching and waiting for the perfect moment. We can’t hop on our metaphorical spaceship of destruction and blow our way through the bracket, especially with a team of two. One mistake and there goes the prize money.”

“Zim doesn’t make mistakes. But don’t forget the snack vouchers.”

“Right, the money and the snack vouchers. And I guess our patronage of whatever club is sponsoring the game.” Before Zim could have the chance to offer a counter argument, Dib checked his watch. “Hey, since my shift is almost over you should go get the disguises from my car. They’re in the back, blue bag.”

Glad to be doing something, Zim dropped the conversation, caught the keys tossed his way, and hurried out of the gas station. He swiped a piece of gum from the cupholder before actually grabbing the bag and returning to where Dib was typing something on the cash register.

“If you remember which one is yours you can go ahead and change in the bathroom,” Dib said without looking up. “I’d use the women’s though, I didn’t get around to cleaning the men’s room tonight.”

Zim shut the door behind him and rooted through the bag, tossing aside the clothing he knew was for Dib’s disguise and pulling out his own. He ended up with a blue “2013 SCIENCE CONFERENCE” hat, a zip-up hoodie, and a pair of black jeans. The disguise also included a calculator watch, perfectly synchronized with Dib’s (not calculator) watch. All of the clothes were Dib’s from when they had been closer in size, and apparently were ‘less conspicuous’ than the disguises designed by an elite Irken invader trained from hatching to seamlessly infiltrate alien societies without raising suspicion. Apparently. Zim muttered darkly to himself as he pulled the clothes over his uniform, tucking his tunic into the zipped hoodie and throwing the hood over the hat.

He left the rest of the clothes in a heap and exited the bathroom where Dib was futzing on his phone just outside. He gave Zim a once-over and, evidently satisfied that Zim hadn’t made any last-minute changes, disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged a minute later wearing a backwards baseball hat, sweats, and a short-sleeved shirt with a pair of sunglasses hanging from the neck. The bag, now containing his uniform, swung from his arm. They walked to the car in silence, although Dib paused to wave goodbye to his replacement.

“Okay, here’s a map to the party. We’re here.” Dib pointed. “I need you to navigate us along the red line and when we get to the street I circled keep an eye out for the house number written in the margin,” he said before twisting around in his seat to back the car out of his spot.

When they were waiting at the traffic light, Zim pointed to the right. “Turn that way.”

“Which? Oh. Could you tell me the directions?”

“Are your eyes broken?”

Dib turned onto the road. “No no I understood, it’s just I can’t look over at you when I’m driving or bad stuff happens. Like this.” The car swerved, causing Zim to clutch at his seat, tearing the cushion.

“Don’t do that!” he snapped. “Fine, soon you need to turn onto Shlemmy Street in… Dib direction.”

Dib puzzled for a moment before amazement dawned on his face. “You’re kidding me. You don’t know your right and left!” He laughed at Zim’s scowl.

“Zim’s directional expertise is much more advanced than a human could understand, I don’t need your stupid ‘right and left!’”

“Even kids know their right and left Zim, that’s just pitiful.” He giggled to himself. “Dib direction and Zim direction, that’s good, I might use that.”
Zim slouched into his seat. “… Dib direction right now.”

“Ohshit!” Dib slammed the breaks and cranked the wheel to the left, once again causing Zim to claw into his seat. “Warning, Zim, give me a warning next time!”

It took some practice, but by the time the two had made it to the party Zim had gotten warnings down and Dib had internalized the ‘Dib direction, Zim direction’ mnemonic. Dib parked at the end of a long line of cars and pulled his toy gun out of the console. It was smaller than the one he had used in the mall, it had to fit in the pocket of his pants after all, and only had four bullets. Zim was able to carry a larger gun as long as he stashed it in his hoodie pocket. Neither carried a Shouty.

“Okay,” Dib started, “you walk in, keeping your head down, and look for any of the four targets on the upper floor. I’ll follow three minutes later to check out the ground floor and then meet you in the kitchen at,” he checked his watch, “11:34. We’ll plan the strike there.”

Zim nodded and hopped out of the car, pulling his hat down as he approached the thumping house. He breezed past a group lounging on the lawn and entered, surging past the strobing living room and up the stairs where the stench of alcohol wasn’t as pervasive.

He had been fruitlessly drifting through rooms filled with people playing games and chit chatting for five minutes before checking his watch. By now Dib was downstairs doing the same thing. While checking his watch, a shadow passed over Zim and he felt the warmth of another presence at his rear. Zim clutched his gun within his hoodie, prepared to dodge out of the way of a grab or a bullet before the presence came around his side.

“’Scuse me,” a kid muttered, squeezing between Zim and the door frame he was standing in.

Zim released his grip on the gun. He had to be more careful.

Zim spent the rest of his allocated time wandering between the same few rooms and trying not to look suspicious, and was glad when his watch reminded him that he was needed downstairs. When Zim entered the kitchen he almost didn’t recognize the teenager he had just shared an incredibly frustrating car ride with behind his horrible, disgusting, ugly, and fake fake fake mustache.

“You look ugly.”

“You look like a cockroach crossbred with vomit,” Dib replied around a bite of brownie, nudging his prescription sunglasses up his nose. “Did you see any of the targets?”

“No. Are you sure they’re here?”

“Oh they’re here, I saw Torque and Chunky in the living room, excuse me, in the room Zim to us right now, and I have good intell about the team as a whole. You sure you didn’t see any upstairs?”

“Do not doubt Zi—” there was a hand over Zim’s mouth. It smelled like brownie.

“Don’t draw attention to us!” Dib hissed. “Torque’s team can’t know they’re in danger!”

Zim shoved the hand away. “Keep your filth paws off of me! It is time for Z— eh, Schim, to take action!”

“What does that— Zim, no!”

But Zim had already left his partner’s side to approach a pair of girls chatting in the kitchen. “Girl humans! Schim requires information— do you know the whereabouts of a, eh,” Zim squinted at the sharpie on his hand, “Carl Rob?”

The girls shared a devious smile. “Carl’s with Aki.”

Dib frowned from where he was hovering behind Zim. “And Rob?”

One shrugged. “Haven’t seen him all night. Why d’you wanna know?”

The other girl, clearly a bit sloshed, squinted at Dib. “Hey, do I know you?”

“I think you would remember this ‘stache.” Dib said with a flourish. Zim had never hated him more than in that moment.

“Uh, I don’t know,” she started again, but Dib was already pulling Zim aside.

“We should call off the strike. We know the whereabouts of Torque and Chunky, henceforth to be referred to as targets one and two, but Carl, target three, is in an unknown location upstairs and Rob, four, could be anywhere. I smell a trap.”

“Target three is not upstairs, Schim was very thorough!”

“He’s gonna be in a closed room though, and that wasn’t a part of the original plan. It’s falling apart, we need to regroup.” Dib reached up to pull at his cowlick, but retracted his hand when he found the hat instead.

Zim fell into silence, grinding his teeth and squeezing the handle of his hidden gun. His eyes flicked over to the girls he had interrogated and saw that they had their heads leaned together and were squinting at Dib. One of them motioned to her upper lip. “No time! If the Dib will not act, Schim will!”

Before Dib could protest, Zim had fled the kitchen and was up the stairs. He searched the hallway once for threats or target four and noted duly that Dib wasn’t trying to stop or help him. Having satisfied his minor paranoia, Zim started trying doors. The first three were busts, but when Zim flung open the fourth door, leading with his gun, he was met with target one’s face flushed with surprise as he held himself above the mattress and an equally flushed girl.

“Shut the door, shut the door!”

Zim cackled as his bullet flew true to hit target one on his bicep. “Victory for Zi—”

“Dude! Shut. The. Door!”

Zim shut the door as he walked further into the room to collect his bullet and his photo. “Do not tell Zim what to do! I tell you what to do! And I want you to take Zim’s victory picture, girl human!” But Aki had buried herself under the covers. Zim picked his bullet off the comforter and prodded her shape, “Eh, didn’t you hear me? Listen to Zim!”

Ex-target three slapped his hand away. “Lay off, just take the picture yourself and get out of here. Fucking creep…”

He pulled the covers up around his neck and, scowling, leaned in to take the selfie with Zim. Once Zim was satisfied with the picture, he stashed his phone away and surprised himself by pulling out the toy gun. “Now, Di— eh, Carl-smell! You will tell Zim the location of your inferior ally!”

He flinched away from the gun, but managed to pull his eyes away to glare at Zim. “I— no! Get out, what is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with yooouuuu, smelly pig-beast?” Getting into it now, Zim butted the gun against Carl’s nose. “Give Zim the information!”

Carl jerked back. “Jesus fucking… fine! What do you want to know?”

“Where is your ally, the Rob? Tell Zim nooow!”

“At his house! Er, well, I’m not totally sure. But he’s sick, so he’s not here!”

“Hmmm.” Zim retracted the gun for a moment before extending it again to prod at the lump under the covers. “Is this true? Confirm!”

Carl was swatting the gun away, about to lay into Zim, when the door opened a crack and a tiny toy gun poked around the corner. Seeing this, Zim’s instincts took control, causing him to shriek and hit the deck before rolling to the side of the room where he pointed his gun at the door.

“Schim, was that you? Is it safe for me to come in?”

“Oh. Dib-brain. Yes, Zim has neutralized the threat you may enter and assist in my interrogations.”

“Nice! Yeah, I just got targets one and two downstairs so I figu— yousaiditwasokaytocomein!” Dib slammed the door behind himself and threw his arm up over his eyes, not quite hiding his creased brow and disgusted frown.

“Yes, target three has been dealt with, he is of no danger to the mission.”

“No but— dumbass, he’s naked!” Still with one arm secured to his face, Dib turned to the door. “Just hurry up so we can leave.”

“The girl still needs to confirm the Rob’s whereabouts! I will not leave until this is done!”

The lump under the covers shifted around. Zim would say it shifted angrily if he knew anything about lumps under covers. “What Carl said, he’s at his house! Now get out already!”

Zim gave a pleased nod, pocketed his gun, and made his way to the door where Dib was groping sightlessly for the knob. “Very well, but if this information is false this will not be the last you see of Zim! It’s time to go Dib, stop playing with the door.”

After fleeing the room, Dib and Zim were very nearly chased out of the house by a pissed off Torque but managed to make it back to Dib’s car regardless. Dib flung himself into the driver’s seat with a sigh and started the ignition. “That was a mess.”

Zim was grinning, still riding high off the action. “Nonsense! We have defeated a majority of our opponents, it will be simple now to finish the job.”

“But Rob’s team will tell him what happened and he’ll be ready for our attack. Or worse, he’ll come after us, I can’t plan for that!”

“Zim will not lose,” was all he said, reloading his gun.

“Yeah well… Dib is more realistic.” Dib crossed his arms and chewed his lip, staring out the windshield. “Whatever, we’ll figure it out. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It'll be aaaaall good. All good. Yep." He looked constipated. "Can you navigate me back to your place?”

Zim looked up quizzically. “You want to retreat? But we know the Rob is in his home, we can dispose of him easily.”

“Oh thank fuck you said it,” Dib groaned, immediately reaching into the back of his car for a box. Zim looked on as Dib tossed aside the box’s lid and began filing through the folders it was stuffed with, eventually taking out the one labeled ‘HUMMEL, ROBERT’ and setting the box in the back again. When he opened the folder, Zim saw there were only three pieces of paper inside, the first of which was printed with what looked like standard information such as birthdate, immediate family, and home address, and the second two being covered in Dib’s scrawling handwriting. He caught a glimpse of today’s date and the address of the party before Dib straightened up the papers so only the printed one was visible.

“Map,” he said, holding a hand out to Zim.

Zim found it at his feet and handed it over. “You should use the human Gee Pee Ess system, it speaks to you so I don't have to hold your squiggly paper or use my superior directional indicators.”

“And let the whole world know where I’m going and what I’m doing?” Dib snorted. “Yeah right. Besides, I’ve already replaced all knowledge of ‘right and left’ with ‘Dib direction, Zim direction,’ and I’m not sure my GPS is that advanced.” After finding Rob’s street on the map, Dib circled it and erased the line connecting the gas station to the party. He then drew a connecting line from their location to the circled street and scribbled the house number on the margin before handing the map back to Zim, whose grin looked about to split his face in half.

“Okay, since it’s against the rules to break into someone's house, I’ve been thinking of how we could get to Rob…”

Chapter Text

One month later.

It had been going so well. From the beginning Zim and Dib had had an almost embarrassingly large advantage against their assigned opponents in both intellect and skill, allowing them to sweep up victories and virtually fly through the bracket. Each of the strikes had been smeet’s play, but as the team of two entered the finals Zim was regretful that the game would be ending but glad he wouldn’t have to work so closely with Dib much longer. Dib’s over-planning and over-carefullness was stifling and Zim had been doing his best to both follow the plans and feed his growing craving for action. He had even asked at one point, very politely, Zim thought, for Dib to introduce a planned chase or duel to a plan, but Dib had disagreed saying that he didn’t want to risk it. Zim initiated a chase anyways.

For the last team, Dib’s ‘intell’ revealed that they had made it to the finals by no accident, but through careful planning and the masterful employment of the ‘let’s not all stand in the same room’ strategy. Genius. Because of this, it would be impossible for one clean strike to finish the team and they would instead have to be picked off one by one. The first one had been clean, leaving only three. Two were supposed to be disposed of today in separate strikes outside their homes as they left for skool. Supposed to.

“Target three has become ex-target three at the hands of Zim. What is your status?”

There was a pause before Dib replied. “Space-boy I… oh man, I’m not feeling so well.”

“Eh? What is this? Did you succeed or not?”

Dib gave a hearty yet unconvincing cough the Shouty. “It’s getting dark, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on…”

“Impossible, it’s still morning. Have you fallen into a hole? You know, GIR did that once and it—”

“No! It’s much worse, Space-boy, I… I’ve been shot.”

Dib had to pull his head away from the Shouty at the resulting screech.

“WHAT?! You filthy, smelly, ugly… augh! I knew I shouldn’t have let you into battle, of course you would mess this up! Our years of truce have softened you and now you have compromised Zim’s ultimate victory! Do you even realize what you’ve done? You’ve left Zim with two enemies who are more advanced than any we’ve faced before! Fool! Do you want to lose?! I can—”

“Jesus, chill out. There’s just two left, I’m sure you can handle it with the right plan.”

“But you’ve left Zim exposed and alone and— AUGH!”

Dib checked his watch. “Look, stay put and I’ll come pick you up. We can talk about it on the drive to skool and come up with a plan to get the last two targets. I parked like a half mile away though so uh, hold tight.”

Zim tried to scream into the Runny-Shouty again, but found Dib had turned his off. He stamped his feet and shouted at a car instead. Fifteen minutes passed before Zim watched Dib pull up, still covered in plant detritus from his stealth gear.

“Hi.”

“Silence! Tell Zim your plan to fix this.”

“First of all, I was very clear that we would be coming up with the plan together.” Zim gave Dib a scathing look as he climbed into the car. “Second of all, I have a plan, but it’s rushed so you can’t be mean.”

Zim could be mean and was mean for the entire drive. He picked apart Dib’s plan until Dib was satisfied with its integrity and Zim was satisfied with his ability to subtly mess with that integrity, all the while making sure Dib felt bad for his horrible misdeed. If Zim was being honest, the idea of it being a final showdown between him and two opponents was exciting, but he would rather take orders from GIR then admit that to Dib. The discussion of the plan had been intense, but as soon as Dib parked at the skool an unprecedented fifteen minutes early, they stopped all plan-related discussion.

“Hey I need to get this shit off of me,” Dib said, gesturing at the leafy remnants of his stealth gear, “do you have somewhere to be or could you hang out in the bathroom Dib of the gym?” Zim didn’t answer immediately. “That was a rhetorical question, I know you don’t have anything to do.”

Zim wrinkled the spot where his nose would be, but followed Dib into the skool and then into the bathroom. Dib dropped his backpack in front of a sink, the one with a mirror experiencing only minimal shattering, and produced a washcloth out of it that he wetted and began attacking the crust on his face with. Zim fiddled with his Shouty while he waited, absently remembering a project he was pretty sure was due that day.

When he hung out in the bathroom, with or without Dib, Zim generally paid little mind to any of his classmates who wandered through, but he found it hard to ignore when one shot him in the face.

“Augh! What is the meaning of this?”

Dib whirled to face the door. “The fuck was that, Carl? We beat your team like a month ago!”

“Yes! And ‘Nerf War Regulation’ states that no hits thirty minutes before or during skool hours will be counted.”

Carl fired again, this time hitting Dib and causing him to drop a handful of leaves he had been about to throw away. “That’s not for the game, that’s just for being creeps.” Another figure, Torque, stepped into the bathroom and fired, missing Zim as he darted into a stall, but getting a lucky shot on Dib that knocked his glasses askew.

Dib backed away, “This is insane! You’re just shooting us with foam!”

“Oh yeah, well maybe I should barge in on you two when you’re fucking, how’s that?” Torque punctuated his friend’s comment by violently humping the air. It was a weak jab, but Dib still couldn’t stop himself from blushing.

“Is that what you’re mad about? It wasn’t even me, that was Zim who got you out.”

“Yeah, well you’re still a creep.” A bullet hit the wall next to Dib’s head. “You and your fuckbuddy.”

Torque threw in a few more air humps for good measure. “You’ll never win, Zim! The whole skool wants you to lose! And we’ll make sure it happens!”

“Just give up now!” Carl feinted at Dib and cackled at his flinch before leaving the bathroom.

The door slammed shut just before Zim peeked above the stall to shout some Irken obscenity. For a moment, the bathroom was filled with a pregnant pause. Despite the squeaky doors, rusty pipes, cracking tiles, and pissy aliens, for moment, there was no sound.

“Zim won’t lose.”

Dib looked up at where he was hanging onto the stall partition, staring at the door with a look Dib hadn’t seen since his childhood. “Yeah. We’ve got this.”

Things weren’t great for Zim. The bathroom assault had proved to be a mere precursor for a day of shoving, shooting, and shouting, all perpetrated by his ex-targets. They seemed angry at his greatness, this wasn’t new, but such a violent turn of events so close to his impending victory made Zim anxious that they might interfere. After Zim had faced the ‘Death of One Thousand Darts’ at the hands of a team he could hardly remember crushing, he had had enough. Zim cut out of his last class to hide in the bathroom, pulling his Shouty off his hip as soon as he was inside.

Zim was delighted to see the glowing green indicator that Dib’s Shouty was turned on and quickly made use of this knowledge.

“Dib-human, the skool is no longer hospitable to our victory. Meet me in the Dib bathroom for transportation.”

Silence.

“Dib?”

Zim jumped when the Shouty crackled to life in his hands, “Uh, yeah. On my way, Zim. And which bathroom was that?”

Zim squinted at the device. “The Dib direction bathroom. From the gym.”

“…Got it.”

Zim was slow to reattach the Shouty to his belt. He glanced down at the pile of leaves left in front of the sink as he did so, processing. And then he was sprinting down the hallway towards the math wing. He held the gun to his leg to keep it from bouncing, head whipping back and forth looking for the room number he hoped Dib was not inside. He nearly missed it and had to skid to a stop so as to not overshoot before throwing the door open. The whole room looked up at his entrance except for one person in the back whose cowlick hung over the front of his desk, nearly reaching the splayed feet beneath them. The owner of said cowlick remained obliviously asleep as Zim marched to the back the room, only waking up when he was being shaken by the shoulders.

“Now is not the time for unconsciousness Dib-thing, our security has been compromised!”

“Whasat?” Dib sat up, a finished piece of calculus homework stuck to his face by drool.

“Our security!” Zim shrieked.

Dib rubbed his eyes and started blearily shoving papers and pens into his bag without putting on his glasses. “Fuck that sounds serious what— what are we doing? What happened?”

Zim was nearly tearing his wig off at this point. He spoke thorough gritted teeth. “Your Roony-Screamy has been stolen and is in the hands of the enemy, Zim is no longer safe at skool and requires transportation!”

“Oh man. That was my dad’s. Shit, are they coming after you?”

Very likely!”

“Well uh,” Dib looked up at his teacher, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to his childhood tormentor, Ms. Bitters, and saw that she had stopped class and had nearly ripped a chalk eraser in half. He slowly put on his glasses. “Can I leave? It’s a family emergency.”

The look she gave Dib would proceed to haunt his dreams for the next few months.

Undeterred, Zim followed Dib’s gaze. “I uh, need Dib for, er, an experiment. He will be very badly hurt and will not return for the rest of class.”

She narrowed her eyes. “…See to it that he never returns.”

Dib didn’t need any more invitation to grab his bag and run after Zim out of the room. Dib was out of breath by the time he was shoving his keys into the ignition and peeling out of the parking lot. “Where are we going?”

Zim hugged himself to hold onto the thrill of the escape and looked out the window to watch for any pursuers. “We’re just following the plan now, Dib. Just follow the plan.”

Only Zim’s wig was visible above the aisles as it paced back and forth in the gas station.

“Where are they? Those dirt monkeys should be here by now to face ZIM!”

Dib shrugged, mopping at the end of Zim’s aisle but keeping well out of his path. “Beats me. But I did tell you I wasn’t certain about the time, after all it’s much more difficult to predi—”

“Silence, Dib-brain! Do not distract Zim with your excuses.”

Dib frowned, but was silenced. The gas station remained quiet until the bell above the door tinkled.

“Welcome to Squeezy’s I’ll be— aaAAHHZim! They’re in a pack!”

The group had already surged through the door and made a beeline for Zim’s aisle. As they approached, the front of the pack split open slightly to reveal one of the last two opponents qualified to kill Zim. Dib tried to intercept, but was at the opposite end of the aisle from the action and never stood a chance. As the pack rounded the corner, target four firing over Torque’s not insubstantial shoulder, Dib watched Zim’s wig fall to the ground. And then watched Zim fall from the ceiling.

“FEEL MY VICTORY!” he shrieked, firing down at the head of his adversary. Zim’s aim was true, and he stopped firing to bound off of Carl’s head, ducking into a roll and coming up crouched between Dib and the fallen stack of pallets that, when placed above a rolling cart and below Zim’s wig, had acted as his dummy. Zim kept his gun aimed at a stunned ex-target four.

“Dib was that—”

“That’s only one of them.” Dib dropped the mop and the string attached to the cart and ran behind the counter. As he pulled up the building’s security cameras, the pack began to come down from their state of disbelief.

“Are you serious, the ceiling?!” Carl shouted. “And what the hell, is that your hair? What is wrong with your head!”

“It’s a skin condition,” Dib and Zim called in unison.

“I cannot believe this,” Zita muttered, holding her head in her hands.

Ex-target four turned back to his entourage, having calmed down. “Guys it’s fine, Jessica is still in this. If we all back her up we can win! Zim’s out in the open, he’s already used all his tricks!”

The pack muttered in agreement, but was drowned out by Dib’s shouting. “Zim, she’s out back! If you go around the Zim side of the building you can still ambush her!”

Zim reacted instantly, clambering up and over a shelf and sending it crashing onto the mob as he made his escape. Running out the door, he caught a glimpse of Dib wielding a broom, ready to hold off their classmates as soon as they recovered. Zim wasted no time in rushing around the side of the building but slowed himself to a stealthy pace as he approached the back. He held the gun evenly, eyes flicking to every corner and ensuring he didn’t make the fatal mistake of tripping over a stray can. He slowed to a stop as he approached the corner and perked his antennae trying to sense anything that would give target two away. Experimentally, he edged closer to the corner and drooped one antenna past it, finding himself exhilarated when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a human trying to convince himself— herself— she wasn’t scared.

Zim listened a moment longer until he was sure of target two’s position pressed against the back wall of the gas station. He leapt out from the corner, firing a bullet where he knew she would be, but it bounced off the trashcan she had hidden behind. She wasn’t surprised for long and returned fire almost faster than Zim could dodge. He ducked and raced around the side of the can, causing two more of her shots to go wide. Zim dashed past target two in a zig-zag pattern and rolled behind a trashcan on the opposite side of where he had emerged, instantly propping himself up and laying down fire on the girl. She reacted quickly, dodging his bullets by pure luck, but dropping her gun to her side in the panic. Zim grinned as he bowled over the trashcan in his leap to shove his gun against her chest and grab her own gun in his other hand. She screamed.

Yes, this was his favorite part, when he was cowering in fear, when he accepted that Zim had won, when Zim got to— Dib shrieked from inside the gas station. Zim faltered, loosening his grip as he was wrenched out of his programmed mind and into the present where he wasn’t fighting the Dib in fact where he was friends with the Dib and his enemy was this irritating girl who looked like she was about to shoot him. Before either had fully recovered, Zim’s PAK legs extended and carried him above the bullet target two hadn’t yet fired. Disoriented as he was, Zim once again missed his chance to take advantage of the situation and watched his target show remarkable adaptability and scramble away from the wall.

Zim tried to chase but crashed sideways into the wall. He could practically feel his programmed instincts and organic mind coming to blows, but ignored the conflict as he had been doing for nearly a month. The action felt too good to stop and psychoanalyze himself. Besides, he was doing fine balancing his new, strife-free life and this reentry to conflict. All he had to do was deal with this Dib-like threat and then he could sit down and sort himself.

Zim wasted no more time and followed him— her— around the corner, his PAK legs wobbling as he struggled to push aside his internal conflicts. In his unsteadiness, Zim was almost felled by a discarded toy gun in the alley, almost fooled by Dib’s strangely effeminate voice screaming for him to stop, to just shoot him and end the game. Zim overshot the corner and went stumbling into the front parking lot of the gas station, swerving towards the screaming as soon as it started up again. Dib-girl was cowering in a clump of his friends, no longer trying to evade. Zim grinned. He was so close.

He raised the gun to finish this nuisance, just for a brief time, he couldn’t let the Dib die and leave him without a challenge, and saw that this hands were trembling. “Curses,” he muttered, stumbling closer to the group. As he made his final approach, towering above a sniveling group of humans and a Dib, one of Zim’s PAK legs buckled. He scrambled to stay upright, but another leg buckling— no, another leg being hit by something— sent Zim crashing down. It had been going so well.

Zim pushed himself up onto his organic hands and knees, still grasping the gun and struggling against the dead weight of his PAK legs when they refused to retract.

“Zim, what are you doing?!” Zim looked up. In front of the group, standing with his arms spread and face pulverized, was Dib. The real Dib. He held a rock in his hand, no doubt meant for one of Zim’s legs in case he hadn’t gone down from the first two.

“Dib?” Zim’s mechanical legs flexed forward, as if sensing Dib’s betrayal to them. Zim struggled against them weakly. He was meant to be fighting, but not this Dib.

“What the hell has happened to you? Do you hate our agreement so much that you have to sneak behind my back to fight literally anyone you lay your eyes on? Just end this so I don’t have to be on a team with you anymore.”

Zim’s mind struggled against its violent training, causing his mouth to gape and his metal appendages to twitch. A programmed part of him that had been unlocked once again behind the gas station wanted so badly to pulverize the Dib— or the girl?— into submission, but another part fought against this. This part was new, but had been carefully nurtured in its creation. It wanted to end this to please Dib, his friend, so that he could feel the togetherness his organic parts craved as much as his programming wanted the shedding of blood. That was why he had started playing this game. To be a part of something together. He twitched and felt his metal legs scrape the pavement.

Quivering, Zim forced his legs to fold and tuck themselves away into his PAK. Free from that burden, he pushed himself up and walked towards the group on his cursedly short legs. Dib didn’t move from his stance, eyes wide and breath shallow as he watched Zim’s approach, but he didn’t need to for Zim to aim his gun and shoot target two.

He raised an arm into the air. “Victory for Zim.”

Dib fell to his knees, letting the rock roll out of his hand. “Hooooly shit Zim. I… fuck.”

“Hmm.” Slowly coming back to himself, Zim squinted at Dib’s face. “Dib-brain, your face is purple. And lumpy.”

He sighed, prodding his swollen nose delicately. “Yeah, it got a bit rough in there.” He grinned wryly. “Kind of reminded me of different times, though.”

Zim didn’t share in Dib’s grin, suddenly feeling the weight of the metaphysical battle that had been waging within him since he had first hid in that bush in the mall. With a groan he tipped forward, crashing against Dib’s chest, which let out a surprised ‘oh!’

He closed his eyes as the vanquished group collected themselves to leave and let himself melt into the cautious strokes Dib traced down his back.

“You did great, Space-boy.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”